LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



TSJ/0^ — 

^ ShelfVi 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



POEMS 



James Vila Blake 




CHICAGO 

CHARLES H. KERR & COMPANY 

BOSTON: GEO. H. ELLIS 

1887 



COPYRIGHT BT 

JA^rES VILA BLAKE 
iSS6 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

Dedication vii 

Proeni ix 

Wild Rice— 5^. 7F. . ii 

Nay, Adonais 22 

Sharing 25 

Amori Supplex 26 

Song 29 

Quintrains 30 

Hospitality 32 

On the Road 32 

Rain 33 

A Conversation 3/j. 

In Him 44 

Everlasting — A. M. H. G 45 

Dead Grief 46 

Sursum Corda ........ 49 

One Love ^2 

Returned— J5. S. B 53 

One Score— i^. C, W. 55 

Immortal ry 

Flowers Left by Night on Mj Door-step— ilf. A. C. 58 

Cheer 59 

N^lmporte 60 

Quintrains 61 

Estranged 63 

Voyage 64 

Song y2 



iv Contents 

Translations — vkgb 

Westphalian Folk-song 73 

Carol 74 

Of Thee . . 76 

Nature's Mother- voice 77 

Abschied . . 78 

Three Riders 79 

Slumber Song 80 

Early Summer ....... 81 

Spring Song 83 

An Old Noel 84 

Good Sense 85 

Morning Song 86 

Pythagoras to his Disciples 86 

Morning Star 87 

Sir Winter 88 

Summer Song 89 

May Song 90 

Peace 91 

Evening Song 92 

Earth's Beauty 93 

Alpine Song ........ 94 

Song 95 

Spring 96 

Going to the Great City ..... 96 

Separation ......... 97 

Voiceless ......... 99 

Actum Est ......... ICO 

Difficulties ......... loi 

Stuffing .......... 102 

Diogenes to the Persian ...... 102 

Patience 103 

Sang ulnar ia . . . . . . . .103 

Recovery 105 

Love and Law 106 



Contents v 

PAGE 

Love Ill 

Easter 112 

Wait on the Lord 113 

Hymn of Spring 115 

Together 116 

Three Rabbins 117 

The Bishop's Eyes 128 

The Scholar 131 

Parted 133 

Longfellow . . . . . . . .134 

Amoris Avaritia . . „ 135 

Where? : . . 138 

Comrade — L. L. W, 140 

Sjchar — M. G 141 

Presence — M. A. C. 146 

L 147 

Seers of Love 148 

Rest 153 

Visions — Beside Her 154 

Wedded 155 

The Snow 156 

Year bj Year — L. L. W. 157 

The Prescription 158 

Jesus 160 

Jean Armour ...... ... 162 

The Old Answer to the Old Question . . . 163 

Hymn 164 

Pleroyna . 165 

Judging 167 

Prophets 168 

Csedmon ......... 170 

Morning 172 

John Atheling 173 

Epodos i88 



DEDICATION 

FREDERICK D. BLAKE 

Brother, I have double cause 
Thee to think of, and the laws 
Of my mind-sight lead me so 
That to thee I ceaseless go. 
When my soul hath thee in view, 
Then come virtues trooping, too, 
And I cannot think of thee 
But in goodness wrapped I be. 

When I see, on other hand, 
Noble efforts nobly planned, 
Then their ken my thoughts obey, 
That I think of thee straightway. 

Thus of thee first, then of these, 
Or of these and then of thee, 
Howsoe'er it chance or please, 
It is double bliss for me, 
Who by double cause am pressed 
That my soul upon thee rest. 

So with double love, my brother, 
Take this gift, I have no other ; 
Take this work my soul hath done, 
Since by thee my soul hath known 
Love of good and kin in one. 



PROEM 

world^ if thou must ask 
Sweet melodies of sound^ 

1 am not given the holy task 
To sing for thee. But round 

Thou turnest silently 
To m,ake the nights and days^ 
Inlaid with starry f raise. 
And round thou goest silently 
To roll along 
The seas 071s'' song. 
What lfm.y verse as silently 

Its way 7nay go^ 
Commingling with thy meaning.^ blent 
With nights and days and seasons ! O, 
So thus my song and earth agree^ — 
I a7n content. 



I' 






V 



. / 



4 



i,. 



WILD RICE 






7. w: 



Rooted under the water deep, -^^ 

Where only silence and shadows creep, 

But springing high above, • 
Like thoughts of love 
Rooted in a hi^cfen heart. 

Wild rice takes its leafy start; 

Lifting up its tufts, like lances. 
Swayed with two currents, water and air. 

When the sunny zephyi\ dances 

With wavelets *soft and debonair. 

Twice a child's height it grows 
Under the netted ripples, aqjdi alcove, "them throws 
To twice the same height its parterre 
Of panicles, with slender pendaiitSi hung 

Of kernels crystalling. H 



Once, swung^ 



»' 



Down by the breeze, a nodding head, « 
While my light pinnace past it sped, ^ 

Was seized by a gentle hand^ * 

A hand of beauty and love's command, 
Which deftly from the husk picked out 
A ripened grain, and gave it me. :..' . 
'Twas sweet as product of the bee - '. t^; 
Which wanders clover heads about; ' -ri 



12 U^zld Rice 

And full of nourishment, 
As for man's food 'twere meant. 

Why till we not this beautiful food-plant, 
Which cleaves the waters with a graceful 

slant, 
As breeze and current sway it? Then 
Might we fence wide watery acres in 
And reap the fluent furrows of the waves, 
Whose undulations would but shake the 

staves 
Of fruitful rice to sweeter taste. 
Think of a garden made of watery waste, 
Fish darting round the roots 
Of the food-bearing shoots, 
And lilies gleaming through the stalks 
Like petaled foam, from whose white ring 
Another Cytheraea might spring — 
A very Venice of farms, with watery lanes for 

walks! 

Ah! crafty, shrewd wild rice! 

It hath a deep, sage trick 

To parry in a trice 
Covetous mortals, fain to pick 
Its envied fruit and stack it for their gain. 

It will not ripen all at once its grain; 

But slowly up the tufted head maturity 

climbs, [spike, — 

And grain by grain its kernels ripen on the 



Wild Rice 13 

As songs grow not full-born, but rhymes 

by rhymes 
And thoughts by thoughts try what they 

will be like. 
There is no season when to reap 
Its trembling, pendent bounties, or make 
weep 
Its juices from the sickle's wounds, which would 
not spare 
To mow its beauties down, if men could 
tear 
It from its w^atery loves to fill 
Their cribs. They cannot. It defieth them. 

Men's wealth 
It will not stoop to be, nor e'en their bodies' health. 
No; in wild freedom it will spill 
Munificence, which with unchary haste 

It scatters into seeming: waste. 
Ah, ha! The learned figure the rich gain 
That men might get 
If but they could restrain 
Its wild course, seize its streaming manes, and cap- 
ture it. 

But is it waste? This is my song. 

I love the wildling. Its defiance doth 

belong 
To Nature's freedom, to swift things that 

fly, 

To the untutored waves, unmeasured sky. 



14 IVi/d J? ice 

If it were tilled to pack men's barns 
With reedy fruitage of the sparkling tarns, 
It would no more be free for any boat 
Around and through its wilderness to shoot, 
Valiant to struggle through its close stock- 
ade. 
Or through theyraises when wind or prior 

boat 
Hath bent it down. Now, in the shade 
Of its own slender lanes. 
Any warm heart, 
Love-led of Nature, wide apart 

May bend its crowding canes, 
And its defenses take. 
Its every tuft is ripe with liberty, and all 
Scatter their kernels for its sake. 
Feeding the fishes ^vhere their bounties fall ;- 
Freedom for all to enter, sail, enjoy, 
For maid and wife and man and boy 
To hie them to their sports without allov. 
Wild, wild it is, and it doth seize 
Vast lakes at its wild will. 
And there disport it as doth please 
The merry, tender breeze 
To woo its beauties to sweet measures, till they fill 
With the rustle of their gayety the replicating 
shore. 

And now in numbers, and with beauties more, 
Come the bronzed -head birds on v/ing, 



Wild Rice 15 

And all their freedom bring, 
Equal in water or in air, 
To fill the affluent lanes with rare. 

Rich rainbow hues in motion, — 
To float and graze, and give 
More life to waters that already seem to live. 

From Labrador and the great North straits 
That open into bays where melt the freights 
Of the ice-shallops of the Arctic Ocean, 
Where birds have summer parks and pleas- 
ures, 
Down in the winter, with the airy measures 
Of unspent wings, to the stern neck of land 

Which twixt two continents lies spanned. 
Where Atlantic and Pacific seas 
Mingle their sighs in one soft breeze. 
Longing to kiss through the Caribbean gate — 
In such vast course, nor early nor too late. 
They fly, and linger 'mid our thickets of wild rice ; 
Floating out in blue. 
Bright opens, to our view ; 
Rocking like fairy boats with proud bows steep, — 
Rocking as if the waves slept rocking. 
And they slept too, moored by sleep; 
Then on their breasts the wavelets, knock- 
ing, 
Eager with the quickened breeze. 
Seem to rouse them from their floating ease. 
Palaced in their feathers, azure, bronze and gold. 
Two spirits, wedded, hold 



i6 Wild Rice 

Their court — the souls of fire and ice — 
Under lamps opaline, 
Whence tropic flames through Arctic crj'^stal shine. 

If men could reap thee, dear wild rice, 

Could glean for trade 
The sweetness of thine everglade, 
And every pond were a priced crowd 
Of stems fenced jealously, not proud 

As now, but watched as slaves are watched, were 
opens left 

Where thine aerial visitors their plays 

Could celebrate amid thy shady bays. 

To float, swim, bury their heads in water cleft 

With bold skill, till prismatic skies 

Burnished their backs with bright ten thousand 
dyes? 
Alas! gone were those strong blue wings, 
Those floating breasts, those yellow feet. 
The bright, beautiful, blissful things 

That in the radiance of their own plumes meet, 
Kindling the reedy fens of Tolleston, — 

The living fairy barges that from thickets run 

To pound upon the waves of Koshkonong, 
Like a soft drum-beat in the songf 

That doth to wind, to wave, to wood, to sky belong . 
No more would they on waters roam 

Where men had made farm-furrows of their home. 

Should we behold the Mallard's faithful love? 

Or ever find the nest where brooding- bird. 



Wild Rice 17 

High in a leafy tree above, 
Had plucked her breast to stow the eggs in down ? 
Or should we ever know, as yet unknown, 
How, from their perch on inland tree, 
The tender fledgelings in good time are stirred, 
Softly set upon the ground 
And led unto the water — dangerous road 

For the soft callow brood — 
Till the heaving heart of the mere is found ? 

To the same labyrinth of leaves the blackbirds 
come 
In flocks, making a summer season's home. 
Their wings with ruby splashed, to feed 
On the sweet kernels at their need, [speed. 
Or dash between the spires with harmless 
Floating on the opens in my boat 
I have beheld them on the grassy spikes. 
Seeming, as these were waves, to be afloat; 
Or, pushing through the lanes of pikes, 
I have driven them to their wings 
More curious than startled; or belike 

Suddenly I felt a shadow 
On the sun-penetrated water strike. 
As when down to a wavy meadow 
A crested cloud its message flings; 
And a dense flock has flown above me. 
So low, the air rush seemed to shove me 
Aside, whirling my boat; so near, 
Their whirring wings sung in my ear. 



1 8 Wild Rice 

There I have seen the crane, soft pearl and gray, 

Poised on the rice, 'twixt water and the day. 

From blazing Africa to Lapland snows 

It travels; halting, stately king, as still as 

rows 
Of shadows cast by motionless fire, 

Like sculptured action that could never tire ; 
Then soaring high, 
And cirrus-like stretched on the sky, 
A slender arrow with huge wing 
Moved on each side without machinery. 
So lissom is the line-like thing, 
So swift, so ray-like and so free. 

In opens which the rice hath fringed with green. 
The lotus growing I have seen, — 
Gardens of gold blooming behind 
Dense ramparts, so that none might find 

The glorious creature, but with reverent pains; 
But when we pierced the guarding lanes. 

There bloomed the treasure, covering heaving beds 
Of water, like undulating meads, 

With its faint yellow flowers — cups of wine 
Of golden glints that pour and shine 
From them, when with the wind they tip 

As offered to a naiad lip. 
Above the water rising a full span, 

Yea, two spans, doth it bloom; and the unplicate 
fan 
Of its leaf up-pierces from beneath, 



Wild Rice 19 

A double rolled and pointed sheath, 
Unfolding on the surface to great rounds 
That break dry from the water, which cannot 

doom 
To the least moisture their encircling bounds, 
But shrinks to trembling dew on their inviolate 

bloom. 
Then from these amber goblets that assuage the 
eye, 
Another beauty floats into the sky, 
A new deliciousness for a new sense to take. 
The atmosphere is laden like an upper lake 

With waves of odor for a sense 
More spiritual even than eyes' or ears' pretense. 

Therefore, Wild Rice, I will not wish thee tilled, 
Nor ripened at one harvest all thy seed. 

That thou hadst fed the body's need. 
Or man's more greedy garners filled. 
Would then the poor be better fed, 
The wide world's welfare better sped, 
And never children feel dread hunger's 

pains? [gains! 

O, soul is the soil that grows the body's 
Nay, if the freedom of the brow 
That shines in thine inviolate wildness now. 
Can fill the spirits of the safe, the glad, the 

fair, 
With new, deep life, pure thoughts and 

happy songs. 



20 Wild Rice 

Till they their glad abundance better share 

With the poor, toiling throngs, 
Thou wilt mature the richest harvest yet 
Was ever seen in richest valley set. 

And thou, my boyhood's friend, whose hospitable 
home — 
A low-eaved cot, filled with fine life. 

Nestling under spreading trees, 
Where birds contend with music for their 

strife. 
Or, banded, vie with the -^olian breeze — 
Keeps open door when thither comrades 

roam. 
Where a lone island leans at rest 
On Nippersink's rice-osiered breast. 
Where green Pistaqua, and sister-bosoms three, 
Harbor the tall spires. 
Till, kindling under sunset fires. 
They crimson the reflected copse and tree; 
And the Volpean currents bind 
The meres as in one mind 
To know their own dear beauty, and to find 
Joy in the river's waves that through them 
wind 
As one self stream of thoughts through kindred 

spirits may, — 
Where were thy cot, O friend, thy sports, thy day 
Of country-freedom, where were they ? 
Thy genial greeting, and thy kind abode 



Wild Rice 2i 

That ever to thy friend its welcome showed; 
Thy tireless and ingenious work of hand, 
Boats for the wave and archery for the land ; 

Thy children's echoing call, 
And the bright sunshine vocal in them all, — 
Where these, if farmers knew to spoil 

With the keen sickle's toil 
The camping freshets of their plumes of 

fruit? 
Come, sing with me, and gladly, that we 

find 
This sweet, delicious kernel will not suit 
Man's avarice to stack and bind ; 
But waves its lovely message for the mind, 
And drops its nourishment in lingering 

hours 
To feed the fishes, birds and flowers. 
And souls of Nature's lovers in her bowers. 



NAY, ADONAIS 

Thus saith Adonais's verse, 
Praise of fancy to rehearse: 
"O, sweet Fancy, let her loose; 
Everything is spoiled by use, 
Where's the cheek that doth not fade 
Too much gazed at? Where's the maid 
Whose lip mature is ever new ? 
Where's the eye, however blue. 
Doth not weary? Where's the face 
One would meet in every place ? 
Where's the voice, however soft, 
One would hear so very oft?" 

Smooth and warm thy numbers, Keats, 
Redolent as summer heats. 
Where the lotus grows, or pine 
Pours its balsam: and thv flight 
Bears thee where the breezes shine, — 
Shine, and shed from pinions bright 
Pearls and starrv dews of nig-ht. 
Dropping from the azure height, 
Or from Cirrus opaline. 
Like a hurrying bird of strife 
Swept'st thou by, as if thy life 
Of some long migration were 
But a lightning-flitting v/hin*, 



Nay^ Adonais 23 

Keeping an unfailing height, 
Wings unstooping to alight. 
Nathless, this thy roundelay 
With its swift bewildering play 
Of enticing melody, 
Rings not truth-like in the ear. 
Set at naught by heart sincere. 
This I dare avow, and will 
Evermore stand to it still — 
Only truth real song can be! 
I will never sing with thee, 
Such a wrong to her^ to me, 
Wrong to all who lovers be. 
If thy verses but describe 
Vagrants of the human tribe, 
Say so plainly, and that ill 
Is such vagrancy; then will 
Thy swift verse describe it well 
With a necromantic spell. 
But thou nam'st it Human Soul, 
And thy numbers then do roll, 
I will say it, false and vain. 
Leaving on the heart a stain. 

I will tell thee of a heart 

Where such motions have no part. 

Where no cheek once loved doth fade 

Too much gazed at; where a maid 

Hath a lip mature, but new 

Ever, and an eye whose blue 



24 -^^) Adonais 

Never wearies ; a sweet face 
I would meet in every place, 
And a voice whose truth so soft, 
I can never hear too oft. 
For I love her in that kind 
That her cheeks illumined bind 
Sacred scripture of the mind ; 
From her kiss I drink of soul, 
On her brow a spirit find ; 
In her eye, 'tis heaven's blue 
On my consciousness doth roll. 
And from heaven doth tell me true 
What religion is. Her face, 
Which is sweet in every place, 
I do love because 'tis truth 
Gathering " the dew of youth." 
In her voice I hear the sound 
Which of nature is the voice, 
That it makes my heart to bound 
And my soul in me rejoice. 
This I cry true love to be: 
Only this is worth the name. 
Only this no breath of shame 
Ever whispers her or me : 
And it never fades nor spoils 
By the force of use or toils. 
As a candle in the dark. 
In vast gloom but one small spark. 
Makes us think what we should see. 
What a splendor it would be. 



w 



Sharing 25 

If the dark were all made light, — 

So this true love on the sight 

Rises like a finite flame 

In the dim abyss to shine, 

Till all earth and heaven are fraught 

With the noonday of the thought 

Of the infinite divine. 



SHARING 

If music that comes to me 

I could sing, 
If all the joys that woo me 

I could bring 
So others might them see 
In all their sweet beauty, — 

I were as happy singer 

In my flight 
As yon swift soaring winger 

Lost in light, 
Whose lonely note is heard 
Where flies no other bird. 

Yet happier far my case is. 

That I see 
Same light in other faces 

That fills me. 
And raptures in all eyes 
Of the same mysteries. 



1 



AMORI SUP FLEX 

Am I worthy of the eye-light 

Wherein her holy love, 

Her sky-like, holy love. 

Like the dawning or the setting twilight, 

Promises such noon — strong noon of day, 

Or holy noon of night? 

Oh no ! not worthy ! But from sight 

I stow and hide away 

My sins, my nothingness. 

And let her bless me and unto me press. 

I led her far away 

With rueful art; 

Down many steps and steep, 

I made her home, deep 

In the dungeons of my heart. 

There no light of day 

Might ever reach. 

Sadly to teach 

What love she took. 

And followed, and did never backward look. 

No day-light — but she knows it not. 
Nor ever wot 



Amori Su^plex 2'J 

The steps how steep, 

The depth how deep, 

Under the ground she dwells; 

For while descending 

The steps unending 

To my heart's lone cells, 

We went hand in hand, 

O Love, hand in hand. 

Her eyes on me. 

Her thoughts of me, 

Her heart on love intent ; 

She never saw the way we went, — 

Saw only me ! 

There she set a lamp whose beams 

Pour pulsing streams, 

Celestial-pure, 

Through dark recesses; 

Nor aught but its light confesses, 

Nor soot-spots dure. 

With undistinguishing, unassizing graces 

It rains on sin-hurt places. 

Melting to dew of tears what was a bitter 

rime, — 
Like in some old manse the fire-light 
Rouging hoar seams of time; 
Like in broken groves the sun-light 
Seeding the whirlwind's traces, 
When the brown nurse. Night, 
Hath wept the storm-wracked spaces, 



28 Amori Supplex 

Now grows my heart all peopled with her 

face, 
Which sheds looks that are spirits; and where 

they bloom, 
There do they live, they love, they stay, 
Unfearful of the cavern's gloom. 
Choosing seared and barren place 
To linger in, and play. 
They rise on glowing wing. 
With tender thought to fling 
A wider look; or mercifully seek 
The ruined and the weak, 
Half -fallen stones between; 
Or spring with silence back, love-meek 
From things unsaid, unseen. 
Grown over with dank lichen-screen; 
They bend pitting o'er 
Broken tiles oft floor; 
Then through the door 
Despatch some precious light, 
Smiling into the night! 

Help me, Spirits of love, 
Ye shapes that haunt pure love ! 
When I o'erstrain, 
Oft failing, and in vain, 
To clear and build again 
Better than before, — 
When, falling, I can no more. 
Then still, oh ! still. 



Song 29 

Life, go thou on without my will! 
For love hath taken hold, and works repairs 
More beautiful than aught my cares 
Can do, or tears or prayers. 



SONG 



Awake, my boy! 

Thy cheek hath kissed 

Its twin rose. Dawn! 

Awake for joy! 

A day is born, 

And earth is blest ! 
For under tufts of grass lies the lark's nest. 
And sparkle beads of dew on the earth's breast. 
Far overhead the white clouds are sailing. 
And on the hills soft shadows are trailing. 

Now sleep, boy bright! 
Sweet, go to sleep! 
With eider-down 
Of dreams, brown Night 
Shall weight thee down. 
And fold thee deep. 

The water-gate is shut and the mill stops; 

The evening star climbs over the hill tops; 

White fleece, like wool, descends on the meadow. 

And on the owl's nest deepens the shadow^ 



QUINTRAINS 

Simply to see things as they are, this, this 
Is poetry : for beauty, power and Hiss 
Cannot consist in what is not. Thus he 
Who sees the truth, Hveth with poetry. 
And singeth when he tells what he doth see. 

When thou hast climbed a tree, then pluck the 

cherry 
A bird hath pecked : they know a rich, ripe berry. 
So in the climb of life, follow the merry 
Blythe singers of the earth, buoyed above strife : 
They know the best and sweetest things of life. 

* 

Thinic of thy lot in life as one great whole; 
Then wouldst thou ^change it? Nay, not for thy 

soul: f 

Some one sweet thing thou hast, some sacred bliss, 
Some friend, child, love, thought, hope, too sweet 

to miss! 
The secret of contentment, this. 



^uintrains 31 

The earth not only round the sun doth fall, 

But the sun too doth roam 
Through space, they say, drawing his planets all. 
Well, whirl along ! ye cannot leap the wall 

Around my soul's own home. 

When the bright sun shines, 

Then let thy heart be gay : 

But when the day declines. 

Let thy heart yield the cheerful ray 

Which it hath stored the live-long day. 

* 

If no beauty thou dost spy. 

Blame not the earth or sky : 

But say thine orb is blind. 

Or say a monkish mind 

Sits sourly looking from a cell's dim eye. 

* 

In all the throngs of men I scan, 

I see one only man : 

Each hath been born, hath grown, hath loved and 

hated, 
Hath toiled, slept, laughed and wept, hath wooed 

and mated, — 
One tragedy, one comedy since time began. 



HOSPITALITY 

If love fill full the breast, 

'Tis sure to overflow 

And musically go 

The widest house throughout, 

And run the rooms about 

With rhythmical welcoming 

Of friend or stranger-guest 

To peace and rest — 

Like a brook's song in the vale below. 

Mindful of the highland spring 

Where it learned to sing. 



ON THE ROAD 

How falls the rain. 
The rain, 

On the road to Carmel ? 
Like a mother's kiss. 
Like lover's bliss. 
Like broken light 
From fading skies. 
Like tender night. 
Like closing eyes, 
Like swallow's wing 
Still-poised aloft, 
Like deepening shade, 



Rain 33 



Like anything 

Was ever made 

Most still, most soft, — 

So falls the rain, 

The rain, 

On the road to Carmel. 
Like secret giving, rich and rare 
Thou comest — like a spirit's birth 
Quick from the bosom of the air, 
The breast maternal to the earth. 



RAIN 



The rain falls softly, and on either hand, 
Whether I look upon the earth or sky, 
It seems to utter, with a soft command, 
A gentle speech to tell how small am I. 
How wide it falls ! how quiet and how strong ! 
From stormy clouds it gathers a sweet song : 
It brings the lightning down to paint the grape, 
And juice to swell the berry to its shape ! 
My plans, well laid, it scatters and derides, 
And with sweet laughter my impatience chides. 
Well, let them go; I am not sad or pained 
To be so small in world so great contained. 
I am so small thou mak'st my purpose vain, 
And yet so great that I can love thee, rain. 
But lo! it stops; I go my way again: 
The sweet rain drips no longer from my pen. 



yf- 



n 



A CONVERSATION 

Amid a throng of merry people 
An aged dame sat quietly, 
Alone, looking, not looked upon, 
Glad in their festival, and drinking 
Her sober glass spiced with their glee. 
I, seeing not the royalty 

Which God hath crowned when he leads age 
Into the court of company. 
Passed by that gentle majesty. 
To youth and beauty. But soon chided, 
I saw her eye whose eye I sought, 
And heard her voice whose voice I loved, 
Turn toward the dame with reverence. 
" Go there! Pay court where it is due," 
She said, "and not to me. There sits 
Station august ; go talk to her." 

Gently admonished, I drew near 
That meek sublimity, and spoke: — 
" Lady," said I, " by right divine 
Queen of this noisy throng, may I 
Pay homage due from youth, and hear 
Thy wisdom ? " " Nay," she said, " the body 
Of stiffening age shall drink with thanks 



A Conversation 3^ 

The new wine of thy youth." " Nay, nay," 

I answered, " thou wilt give to me 

Stored wealth." " No," said she, " I will draw 

From thee life to enjoy my wealth." 

" Why, then," I said, " I will stay here 

Not as a suitor, for himself 

Seeking advantage, paying homage 

To a mere ruler; but at home 

In thy mild realm, giving free service." 

Then, knowing her lone life, I asked, 
" Where is thy charge and whilom playmate, 
That winsome child whom I have seen 
Alternate following thee and followed? 
I have not met his smile of late. 
Often I saw him at the school 
Where thou wast waiting, serving him 
With holy deference of knowledge 
To tender ignorance; and often 
I saw thee guiding him to church, 
As if in his sweet company 
To draw near heaven — 'tis made of such. 
By thee, within the holy walls. 
He sat, or on thy lap slept childlike ; 
For preachers yet preach not to children. 
And at thy house his games have filled 
My ears with innocence; I marked him 
Float in swift curves well-nigh the ceiling 
In his light swing, and laugh, not fearing ; 
Thy daughter's child. Where is he now ? " 



■1 



36 A Conversation 

Smiling, she answered me, the heart 
Meanwhile, still young, so strongly sending 
Through stiffening cords its tide, they trembled, 
And the voice shook : 

" Thou wilt remember, 
Hardly t"svelve months ago the child's 
Dear mother-flesh, cast by the spirit, 
Was borne from church to mingle with 
The earth that fed it. And the father 
Was twice bereaved, since I the child kept 
In whom they, being tv/o, grew one. 
But soon the father took the child. 
To keep in sight that rare alloy 
Wherein he and the mother mingled 
Defy the analysis of death." 

"And so," I said, " he took the boy — 
'Twas natural — and left thee lone. 
Dost find the day too sad, too long. 
Now that no child's small troubles call thee 
To help or heal? Belike time w^eighs 
Upon thy heart too heavily." 

" Not so," she said, " for I find duties 
To make day busy and night sleepy; 
And time I wneld like a gold sceptre 
By which I keep my realm in order. 
I have a son, a manly lad, 
Who early goes to work each morn. 



A Conversation gy 

He comes not home the live-long day, 

But night brings him again, a star 

That rises on me in all weathers. 

Right early, and, in winter months, 

Long before light, I must rise up 

To set his breakfast, — pleasant work ! 

'Tis sweet to see him eat my food 

With the keen zest of health and toil! 

Soon he is gone, the table cleared. 

The stove left comely, shining ranks 

Of glass and metal on the shelf 

Disposed, utensils bright and useful. 

Then leisure comes, filled with new pleasures. 

Another lad, a traveler, 

I have, who visits all the climes 

Of this vast land, from sea to sea. 

And with his own eyes looks on nature. 

Not taking tales from other men. 

Up towering mountain peaks he goes. 

And down in dark mines, over plains. 

On inland seas. He treads wild forests. 

Sleeps on the moss and drinks from brooks. 

In his canoe, mid fertile fields. 

He goes up rivers to their springs. 

Or floats in canyons where a torrent 

Hurled from a height has hewn a course 

From flinty rock, for ages cutting. 

Till the cleft stone precipitous 

Towers up a mile above the bed. 

He sees strange creatures, men more strange. 



38 A Conversation 

Cities magnificent he visits, 

Where laws are made and streams of trade 

Together rush, a roaring maelstrom. 

And from his journeys I have letters. 

And boxes of strange things he sends me. 

And books of notes and strange adventure, 

Thick tomes in which I read untiring. 

He says the monstrous sea-board city, 

Begirt with floods both salt and fresh, 

The ocean and the watery hills 

Embracing it like rival lovers. 

Is a great continent itself. 

Where all the peoples of the earth 

Are gathered and all tongues are spoken. 

Then comes my hour of exercise. 
Tracking in thought my traveler's feet 
Beguiles me not of my own walk 
Which health requires, of mind and body. 
And I wot well that I go forth 
In paths familiar girt with wonders 
As great as those my traveler sees. 
Under the sky I walk with awe ; 
Sunbeams broidered with shadows deck me ; 
The birds and far halloos of children. 
Voices of men and tread of feet. 
The cries of beasts, and watery hush 
Of dew-tipped leaves, I hear, rejoicing; 
And my heart sings and offers thanks 
In summer's leafy tabernacles 



A Conversation 39 

Or gothic frames of trees in winter. 
Kind greetings meet me — privilege 
Of age long living in one place. 
I visit marts of garden products, 
For rosy fruit to deck the meal 
At evening of my dear good lad ; 
For he from work comes hungry home. 
I purchase webs of snowy cloth 
To make him clothes or deck his bed. 
Belike I buy some silk or linen 
Against the Sunday, when afresh 
And sprucely he shall dress, and rest. 
These errands done of love or pleasure, 
Homeward I turn ; but pause, reluctant, 
Lingering to breathe again my joy 
For all the sweet day's blessedness. 

Then do I eat, with thanks, at mid-day, 
Frugal and lone, my slight repast. 
Then up and down my house I go, 
Setting it all in comely order, 
Renewing the night-ravaged rooms. 
The well aired beds are made, and downy 
Pillows up-piled, like drifts of snow. 
Fresh water sparkles in the ewers, 
Fresh towels drape the rack, and air 
Is fresh and crisp in every cranny. 
The broom, a tool invincible, 
Renews the floor. A pure aroma 
Of cleanliness pervades the place. 



'»?»' 



40 A Conversation 

This odor of fresh garniture, 
Also a sweet fatigue, awhile 
Lull me to sleep. And so my days pass." 

The dame ceased, but I answered not. 
Thinking how simple was this life, 
How fresh and sweet, how tranquil, simple : 
Like to the house that held it, daily 
Renewed. I thought how well they do, 
What gentle ministers are they, 
Who, knowing naught of Nature's secret 
Save to adore it, naught of learning. 
Yet fill our days with wholesomeness. 
Our nights with uninfected sleep, 
And purify our lives and dwellings. 
Washed, weeded, winnowed, ventilated. 
O homely arts of unstained thrift, 
Instincts of souls immaculate 
Which, from their own unsullied stream, 
Our bodies' dwelling clarifj-, 
Let none despise you, lowly sources 
Of sweetness, privacy and health ! 
And ye that practice these, unfailing, 
In lowliness of place or duty. 
Naught knowing but your simple lot. 
Or suffering pangs of higher dreams, — 
Ye shall be blest, in heaven rewarded, 
Where spotless usefulness is crowned. 

Then, with new reverence: " Surely," said I, 



A Conversation 41 

*' Thy life is lonely since the child 
Went to his father; art not lonely? " 

" Lonely ? " she said; " Can one be lonely 
In the audience-room of life ? I open 
My window \vide and life engulfs me, 
Befriends me with companionship 
And consolation. But lest this 
Seem too remote to satisfy 
The heart that languishes alone, 
Know that I cherish in my house 
Two kinds of living things. My plants 
I tend with love. I wash their leaves, 
And prune them to grow not ungainly; 
And with the soil mix food and drink, 
That they get not athirst nor languish. 
I know their names and characters. 
Their constancy is beautiful, — 
Always the sam.e to those that guard them. 
Blooming, their colors seem rays broken 
From aether, sunsets, clouds and stars. 
Their scent is air from Paradise, 
Sealed in the bud, freed when it opens. 
Also I have my birds, now five. 
But lately six ; for yesterday 
I sold one, grieve, and wish I had not. 
They pick the shell within the cage. 
And blithe they are, content and happy. 
Knowing no other life ; ay, sooth. 
Favored ; for birds toil hard to live, 



42 A Conversation 

Hunting their food ; and many a robin 

In sight of a canary's cage 

Has starved to death, hearing his song. 

At early morn I give them food 

And drink, the while I talk to them. 

Then I provide them brimming bowls 

In which they bathe them merrily, 

And smooth their plumage with pink bills. 

Nodding their saucy heads with pleasure. 

I hang their cages, cleansed, in sunbeams. 

Shaded if fervent. Then their songs 

They pour, throats full and beaks upraised. 

In answering strains, or all together — 

Sweet music of a tropic isle 

Caught from the clang of shells and pebbles 

On coasts where breaking waves roll back; 

But known to me; I know their notes. 

And hail them like familiar words. 

These are my company before 

My lad comes home. I am not lonely." 

" But is not work," I asked, '' unaided, 
A burden ? " 

" Surely not," she answered. 
" But one thing at a time I do. 
And all things slowly. No, I tire not. 
I have full strength. My heart is songful, 
Although my withered voice sings not. 
My share of sorrow I have had^ 



A Conversation 43 

Loss, pain, and unrequited toil; 

But all is past, and where the flame burned 

Spring up our Lord's new shoots of goodness." 

A duty called. I made my reverence. 
The venerable lady answered, 
"Thanks, sir, for sitting down beside me; 
You have conferred a pleasure on me." 
Amazed, humbled, I turned away. 
Glad to hide shame, shame sore yet welcome. 
Could this be royal ? this mien lowly, 
The royal sovereignty of age? 
Ay ! throned ! The last shall be the first, 
And giddy throngs of those now first 
Must be the last, with gentleness, 
Before they shall be crowned. 

Thanked?— 
For what I had not grace myself 
To purpose, blinded to God's glory ? 
O let me not walk in his splendors, 
Splendors of innocence in babes, 
Of joy, woe, pathos, in mid-life. 
And of the majesty of age — 
Blind, senseless, like a clod or stone, 
Or with my eyes prone earthward, brute-like. 
Peering for prey to feed ambition. 
But let me know the things God makes. 
And worship what he sets on high. 
O let me feel the pang, the woe. 



44 -^^ Him 

The shame, that any other knows; 
And know the praise, the honor, glory, 
Of lowly hearts living beside me. 

Blest be thou, venerable dame! 
Thy house is heaven's ante-chamber, 
With voices filled from inner halls. 
Sweet converse to invite thy heart; 
Till thou lay down thy simple life. 
And give thy soul to God with peace. 



IN HIM 

Though the bee 

Miss the clover. 
Fly it by and know it not ; 

Though the sea 

Wash not over 
On the sands a wounded spot; 

Heart, O heart! 

Thou wilt part 
From the All-hold on thee, and lose thy way, 

Never, never; 

Nor wilt sever 
Thy sweet life from the life of night and day. 

Thou in Him 

Liest as dim 
As yellow wings in golden atmosphere. 
Or in the sea each watery spiritual sphere. 



EVERLASTING 

A. M. H. G. 

A DREAM, a dream, came o'er my quiet breast, 
Suffusing with the day my midnight rest. 
I dreamed a thousand years had deftly spun 
Their web above my head since day was done: 
With prescient sight, more daring than a seer's, 
My soaring spirit leaped ten hundred years. 

And over me, who stand in deep amaze. 
Flock tiny forms of light, o'er-draped with haze. 
They swarm and cluster round me, as to seek 
Some recognition from me: yes, they speak, — 
" What ! Dost not know us ? Dost not recognize 
Thoughts, Feelings, Memories, Hopes, that in thee 
rise ? " 

1 shook my head, and turned away with shame. 
How sorrowful and weak our mortal aim ! 
Alas! how sad, how terrible and strange. 
Hurled by the flying years, the doom of change! 
A thousand years in His sight are a day ; 
But, oh! they steal my soul, myself, away. 

Then, while I mourned, a tiny voice drew near, 
A timid whisper, dying in my ear: 
"I think quite all the throng thou didst not see: 
Oh, turn again! look! dost thou not know me?" 
I looked: 'twas Love! I clasped him, raining tears. 
I knew myself: Love lasts a thousand years. 



DEAD GRIEF 

The sorest partinq' is the blessed est. 

* * * 

The happiest only reaches the blest tuoe 
Of being the unhappiest. 

« « * 

His sorrows — they are only his past bliss 
Still living. — Schefer. 

To lose! What is It to lose? 

If Fortune choose 

We keep not gold or what gold buys, 

What then ? The prize 

Our weak hand drops 

Falls to some other hand, 

Nor fails nor stops, 

But ranges through the land, 

Full-missioned still. Even in bitterer loss. 

If child or lover lay 

Her dear life down, our painful cross 

But only lifts 

The precious one into the far blue rifts. 

To bless new paths straightway, 

And other hearts somewhere, who gain 

By our dear pain. 

But when love's path, 

Entered with pure belief, down rolls 

Into foul pits, where seems a devil's wrath 

To float and gloat in mire that sucks down souls. 



Dead Grief 4*^ 

Oh ! this is woe, is woe — 

When heart hath bled 

For Love's love fled, 

For Faith's pure blessedness, by slow 

Wounds mangled, then by one stab killed! 

This woe her spirit filled 

When she looked on his face. 

Where e'en the ennobling change 

And holy, mystical grace 

Of death had failed its strange, 

Sweet majesty to write, 

Or fill the features with its sculptured light. 

The amen is said, 

The service read; 

The bearers, with strong hands. 

Gather around the dead ; 

But cold as clay she stands: — 

Oh! could she e'er recall, could she recall 

But one white stole of love over his crimes to fall ! 

And he is dead: 

Without a moan or cry 

She sees him dead. 

But horror in her eye 

Lies coiled. Her burning lids supply 

No tears, but writhing woes appall. 

As in dry cisterns nesting reptiles crawl. 

With gentle sympathy, heart-sore, 
Neighbors besought her, awed, still more 
Wondering. " For what," they said, " hath she 



1 



48 Dead Grief 

To mourn? She is now loosed and free 

From all yon cruel flesh of infamy." 

Then answered she: "For your good sympathy, 

Take thanks. Your words are true, that I am free. 

But woe! when death gives welcome liberty! 

" If death, clad in white memories, with surcease 

Baptize the babe or child, 

Or with enforced peace 

Still love's heart wild, 

Or take the aged good, — 'tis not unblest! 

Feeling still thrills the place 

Where lay and pressed 

The baby mouth and face; 

Dear filial duties live 

In holy memory ; 

Love's precious secrets give 

Hope's immortality, 

And parting age bequeaths benignity. 

Such loss makes kindly grief; 

Kind face beyond belief 

Grief hath, and its own light, 

Which is an essence bright. 

" But my grief, hopeless, sad, 
Is this : I have no grief, — 
A woe unnatural, bad. 
Unholy, and past kind relief. 
Go, friends, the rite is done; 
And it is nothing. See — 



Sursum Corda 49 

I laugh, could play, could run. 

For my new liberty ! 

But wait I one rite more: 

A funeral drear, 

Where I alone before 

A blacker bier 

Fall down — death's unawaking bed. 

Whereon the body of my grief lies dead." 

The neighbors, one by one. 

Stole awed away; 

The bearers soon had gone 

With the dead to the open day. 

She followed not; but more 

Stood fixed, there seeing, in the dread. 

Dire spot wherein before 

Death's narrow couch was spread. 

Another bier where Grief lay dead. 



SURSUM CORDA 

Hast ever seen a lover die, 

And witnessed then the sky 

Beam on his closing eye 

Its utmost immortality ? 

I have — in dreams — and thus he died : 

He took her hand, and said, 

" Heart's-dear, heart's-joy, heart's-pride. 

Soon I shall be what men call dead; 

And thou, sweet bosom-friend, wilt stand beside. 



1 



50 Sursum Corda 

And see me grow all white, 

And a strange, wondrous light 

Issue and hover; yea, and me, 

Whom thou didst never grand or glorious see. 

Thou wilt behold filled with the majesty 

Which death works in the face. 

Come close down, close, into thy place. 

Darling, upon my breast, 

While I do speak to thee, my true, my blest. 

And now I tell thee, dear, 

I do not nor I cannot fear; 

For in God's world can be no change 

That will be foreign, alien, strange 

To the humblest of his creatures; 

But everything will come with features 

Familiar, half -known before, half -seen; 

And to me, dying, death will be 

What to me, living, life hath been — 

All natural and sweet and good, 

Like any simple habitude. 

Even if I die to live no more, 

'Twill be as waves break on the shore, 

That knew not their full voice before, 

And, while they think how blithe they roar. 

Sink back with music in the sea. 

And yet, this more I say to thee, — 

My soul desires to live. 

For I count it deepest faith 

Strongly to hold and wish to keep. 

Above all death. 



Sursum Cor da 51 

Above all sleep, 

The rich life God doth give. 

Is it life that loves not living ? 

So far as life's glories thrill 

In my reason, in my will. 

So far as my soul is health 

To feel the greatness and the wealth 

Of life's rapture, having, giving, — 

So far doth a holy fire 

Flame up in me with desire, 

And seize on everlastingness. 

I cannot reckon any less 

God's living gift of blessedness. 

And this more I say; if me 

All life's other wealth could give 

No high desire, still I would wish to live 

For the greatness of loving thee. 

Bend close, dear, close, and on the tide 

Thou wilt, a little way, go by my side." 

Thus — in my dream — a lover died. 



ONE LOVE 

A, F. B. 

I SAID unto my heart one day, 

" O heart, I will thee fill 

With loves and hopes and tender fears. 

And tears more precious still. 

I will thee fill with everything 
That is both sweet and rare: 
Good heart, O heart, unlock thy cells. 
Disclose thy cloister stair." 

Then first I poured in one great love: 
Then other joys, a prayer. 
Some eager hopes, I seized to throw, — 
But found no room to spare. 

Alack! this one love fills my heart. 
No corner is left bare; 
I will not speak her name aloud, 
Nor breathe it to the air. 

But I will say that not by day 
Alone, but in the night. 
This love is by me, and I see 
My babes play in its light. 



RETURNED 

E. S. B. 

Friend, thy love and mine 
Reaches back to early joys, 
Times when we were downy boys 
In life's morn divine. 

Like to streams that ran 
Broad and deep past towered town, 
But from moss hills trickled down — 
So our love began. 

Dost recall the brule 
When we met in wintry weather, 
Ears aflame, and breath like heather, 
On our way to school ? 

Oh, how wise we were! 

With what subjects did we wrestle. 

In what confidences nestle, 

On what dreams confer! 

Then we parted. Why? 
Neither knew; nor said " good-bye," 
Nor, if held a tear each eye, 
Told it, you or I. 



n 



54 Returned 

But love stayed, nor stirred; 
For to us was love like song 
That, once heard, doth e'er belong 
In the ear that heard. 

Came and went the years! 
Time, that gives and takes and saves, 
Brought us wives, and babes, and graves, 
Joys, and woes, and fears. 

Hath the pain, the tie. 
All these years grown secretly. 
Till, at last, their fervency 
Breaks into the sky ? 

If against thy heart 
Did my last-writ leaflet lie 
Till the heart-beats wore it, I 
Too have kept my part. 

Life's morn flies with wings, — 
Whirring, gone as soon as heard ; 
Oh, but sometimes, like a bird. 
It returns and sings. 

Now its wing I feel 
Brush me, — in thine eyes and words, 
Skies of light and songs of birds 
On my spirit steal. 



ONE SCORE 

F. C. W. 

** Time is before me like a parchment roll, 
Full of old chronicles, and with these too 

It brings in view 

Whatever is new, 
Writ in plain letters, and the whole 
Illuminated here and there 
With colors rich and rare. 
Initial letters, crimson, gold and blue. 

parchment time, I take thy sheet 
Of all life's stories, sad and sweet. 
And out of thee a hollow roll I make 
Like to a spy glass or a telescope. 
Through which a distant view I take 
And mid past epochs grope. 

Now thus I put it to my eye : 
And what is this that I espy ? 

1 see, far, far away. 

Full twenty years, to a day, 

A youth and maid, 

Tall, handsome, staid, 
Full of life's onward dream. 
Like ships on inland stream. 
With bows set ocean-ward. The youth 
Turns to the maid and speaks; in sooth, 
I see he speaketh well 
And saith right gently what he hath to tell. 



56 One Score 

The distance is too great for me to hear 
What 'tis he says; but it is clear 
'Tis pleasant news. Then in a minute 
He puts out his hand — she puts hers in it. 
He does not spare it any more, 
But holds it fast. 

And so they walk along together, 

Caring nothing what goes past, 

Nothing for the weather, 

Or what skies are bending o'er. 

Whether it rain or shine, is warm or cold — 

All for the sweetness of that story told. 

But what! thou varying clime! 

Through the rolled scroll of time 

What scene now meets my eyes, — 

A multiplied surprise? 

It cannot be ! But, yes, it is ! — 

A little altered in the phiz, 

A little changed about the hair. 

But still quite debonair. 

Both strong, one fair. 

The same good couple I behold ! 

The same ? O yes, the same 

In heart, in wit, in name, 

But with a slight suspicion, 

A whisper in the air. 

Of life's passing mission. 

And that by and by they will be growing old. 



Immortal 57 

Well, then, grow old, the while the earth 
Grows young around you in your children's 

mirth ; 
Wherein a lordlier grace is yours, in sooth — 
Earth gives you age, you dower it with youth! 



IMMORTAL 

If awful throes should shake the world 

Level, and on me Alps were hurled, 

I should not be crushed : 

If heaven crumbled and stars fell like rain, 

Making seas mist and melting the rocky plain, 

My voice would not be hushed : 

If the inner firmament, which makes the dome 

Of the human head an infinite sky, Reason's high 

home. 
Should grow opaque with nimbus-clouds and 

horrid storms 
Of wild, discordant thoughts and insane forms. 
Still in the jarring mind some light would linger, 

by His ways, 
Who in babes' mouths wakes praise : 
But if my love were gone, if I felt not the pang 
Of tenderness, nor ever in me rang 
The peals of human sorrow, — I were dead where 

life doth start. 
Come, Friend, I'll hold thee closer to my heart! 
My love of thee 
Is life in me. 



FLOWERS LEFT BY NIGHT ON MY 
DOOR-STEP 

M. A. C. 

A GRANITE sill, well cut and square, lies at my 
door, — 
'Tis a wonderful stone ! 
For many years people have trodden it o'er and 

o'er. 
Old men and women and children and little babes, 
o'er and o'er. 
It looks as dead as a bone 
Of the mammoth or megalosaurus of yore, 
This wonderful stone! 

But like the Prophet's rod, it buds and blossoms 

with flowers 
In miraculous way: 
But this sweet propagation it hides in brown hours 
Of mystical night, — it is for shame it chooseth 

these hours, 

'Tis so old and so gray. 
I am wonder-struck, old stone! What Arabian 

Powers 

Fill thee in this way ? 



m 



Cheer 59 

Nay, I see that thou art not content, hoary stone, 

With this progeny rare ; 
Thou must needs bring them forth in a way of 

thine own. 
Not as plants bear them hanging on stems, but in 
way of thine own, 
In a basket, with care. 
Why the basket, O gray tressed sill, not alone 
The blooms rich and rare? 

I bethink me now I know the Arabian spell 

And the magical hand. 
There is nothing in heaven or earth works won- 
ders so well, 
O, nothing but good love in heaven or earth works 
wonders so well, 
On the sea or the land ; 
I reverence thy silence, old sill ; no name I tell ; 
But blest be the hand ! 



CHEER 



" The faithful are few," 
A young man said, 
With drooping head ; 
"And men are many, 
And hard for any 

It is the right to do." 



6o N"* Importe 

" Turn the words about," 
An old man said, 
And lifted up his head, 
And from his eyes shone out 
A holy light and true: 

" The faithful are few 

Say not; but rather, a few 
Are faithful; and so be you! 
For men are many, 
And strength for any 

There is the right to do." 



N' IMPORTE 

'TwAS a winter day, and white with new snow; 
I saw a little maid past the window go, 
With a bright, bright hood, and a face fair to see, — 
But what was it to me? 

For I was a boy that looked through the glass, 
And nodded to see the little maid pass. 
With the scarlet hood and fringe of white fur, — 
And what was it to her? 

'Tis winter; the white snow is new again; 
I stand with a woman and look through the pane; 
Mayhap like the sweet hooded maid is she, — 
But what is it to thee? 






ti 







QUINTRAINS 

Because I love thee, all themes turn to love. 

Whatever thought, sight, feeling, incident, 

I meet, instant I wish to impart it thee ; 

Thus each thing hath its poem ; when I do aught, 

Straight must I sing its warm desire toward thee. 

O Love, 'tis beautiful to be thy wife ! 
For nothing hath befallen in our life. 
Pain, pleasure, toil, or cares we bore, 
But seemed to make thy heart give more 
Of love already running o'er! 

'Tis beautiful to be thy husband, sweet! 
For naught thou art, from faithful serving feet 
To intellectual head, smiles brave and gay, 
Nay, frowns, deserved, the which I kiss away, 
But makes me dream I love thee more alway ! 

What is life's greatest joy ? It is to love. 
And what the greatest joy of love ? To make 
The loved one glad. But love is the greatest 

gladness ; 
Love's boon, then, is to make the loving love, — 
Like light, which gives all things, itself when 

giving. 



62 ^uintrains 

How many things must be done over every day, — 
To vv^ork, to rest, to rise, to sit, to sleep, to w^alk. 
To eat and drink, to weep or smile, to read, to talk. 
In all of these unto thy love kind service pay ; 
Then they, though absent thou, tell her of thee 
alway. 

Good things throng my eye, my ear. 
And crowd all senses with good cheer. 
Some have that charm, some this; 
But all agree in one self bliss, — 
That I can share them with thee, dear. 

* 

She doth deserve my all: 
For naught I have so great 
But she with it can mate; 
And naught in me so small 
Outside her love to fall. 

Half love is sad, oh ! very sad : 

It may be gay, it never can be glad ; 

To long, remorseful, memory-gnawed, for very 

pity kind, 
Hiding in gentle acts a lonely mind, — 
This is a sadder hermitage than desert pilgrims 

find! 



Estranged 63 

To have one thought, which I do never miss, 
And as I breathe the air, so my soul this; 
To feel it bid " good morning," like a kiss. 
And whisper me " good night," like a sweet 

dream, — 
This 'tis to love, this doth true hearts beseem. 



ESTRANGED 

My dears my dear, I could part 

From thee, were it need. 
With a solemn joy at my heart 
To think that, indeed, 
I had held thee so close that parting must be 
decreed. 

To part with thy presence, thy face. 

The touch of thy hand. 
Were not hard; for e'en infinite space 
Could never expand 
Really to part us, since love is both person and 
place. 

But to part with thee so that it kills 

Recollection's bliss. 
To feel trust die, till heart fills 

With unbelief, — this 
Is loss that is death ; it is Life's life that spills. 



VOYAGE 

Where think I of thee, dear? 
When think I of thee, dear ? 
Ah ! I think thou playest. 
Nay? An answer prayest? 
Then come with me duly 
And I'll tell thee truly 
Where I think of thee, dear, 
When I think of thee, dear. 
But thou must go with me 
Long and hapsome journey, 
Ere I can bestow thee 
This sweet knowledge, show thee 
Where I think of thee, dear, 
When I think of thee, dear. 
Put thy hand in mine; so; 
Let thy head incline so 
On my breast, and cling we 
Close in one; now spring we 
From the earth, and wing we, 
Swifter than birds' shadows. 
Over hills and meadows. 
Where through spaces airy 
Oberon the fairy 
Puck sends, riding sunbeams. 



Voyag-e 65 



Weaving mats of moonbeams 
For his pranks and fancies. 
Higher than his dances 
Now are we; below thee 
See the earth He; lo! the 
Hollow bowl, and in it 
Men swarm, like the minute 
In the ceon, like rhymes 
In all bird-notes, like chimes 
Where the tips of willows 
Finger the strung billows. 
Overhead far, see the 
Moon, as it would be the 
Well-prowed tender sailing 
In the Sun's flood, veiling 
In the spray, and paling; 
Frosty now, and olden; 
Young by night and golden. 

Note the silence bounding 
Us, with pulses boundless, 
As a string resounding 
Vibrates still when soundless. 
Here, the earth's commingled 
Voices, none out-singled. 
Weave a quiet, mingled 
Like the two-tint-woven 
Purple, like lights cloven 
From all hues, combining 
In the crystal-shining 



66 Voyage 

Sun-white, or like crossing 
Rays which darkness fuses. 
So sometimes affection, 
On stray passions tossing, 
Terror, recollection. 
Selfishness, ambition. 
In a sad transition 
Perishes or loses. 
But not so with me, dear. 
Nor my love for thee, dear. 
Look ! a carpet spreading 
'Neath us for our treading. 
'Tis the warp, all sombre. 
Of a storm-cloud, laced with 
Threads of lightning, faced with 
Fleece of tawny umber. 
So; 'tis past; and now we 
Light soon, soft as hushes 
In love's talk. Below thee 
Lol the region where will 
I, beloved one, show thee 
When I think of thee, dear, 
Where I think of thee, dear. 

See that glinting beryl. 
Windowed with a setting 
Of a silver netting. 
'Tis Pistaqua's rushes 
Grained with watery passes. 
Nippersink now over 



Voyage 67 



We as quickly hover, 
Where the gold-white lily 
Of the water-meadows 
Stars the rice-aisle shadows. 
Breathe, and we are over 
The broad Lake of Grasses, 
Whose ingenuous faces 
Of bare water spaces 
Twilight's love sets burning. 
Light as birds down turning 
With a flash of motion, 
Perching moonbeam-stilly 
On becalmed ocean. 
Light as silver thistles 
Which the fond wind whistles 
From their flowery dwelling, 
To go roaming, sailing 
In the air, then rolling 
By the wayside, bowling 
On their gossamer bristles. 
Drop we on this island 
Clump, — a little highland 
Rising from the valleys 
Of the lanes and alleys 
In the mingled masses 
Of the waves and grasses. 
Look! see round thee growing 
Fabled Lotus, blowing, 
Pediceled like olden 
Vases, bronze and golden. 



^ 



68 Voyage 

From the water rising 
As to float despising. 
Like full vessels spilling, 
They distil their precious 
Essence, which, the spacious 
Atmosphere o'erfilling, 
Pours to brim the shadows 
Of cups on the meadows, — 
Floats into the heavens, 
Filling cloudy caverns 
Whence the fiery sunbeam 
Drinks of it delighted. 
Eke the innocent moonbeam, 
When the stars are lighted 
In her azure palace, 
Do^vn steals, and, half -frighted. 
Drains the amber chalice. 

Take deep breath, inhaling 
The sweet vapor veiling 
Flowers like brides, and shaping 
Almost visibly, paling 
'Gainst the air, 3'et draping 
It, unseen yet golden. 
Bright, though not beholden, — 
As some sounds make think of 
Light in darkness. Brink of 
Watery scoops of wavelets 
It with finer wavelets 
Filling, infiltrating, 



Voyage 69 



Bathes and over-plashes, 
Cleansing, renovating 
That which all else washes. 

Now still dost thou press me. 
Roguishly confess me. 
When and where I think of 
Thee ? Then if thou drink of 
This rare balm, compel the 
Blossoms that they tell thee 
When this precious essence 
Cometh into presence. 
If these throats of amber. 
In their mystic chamber 
Of sweet breath, made voices. 
And each wave of wreathing 
Perfume broke to breathing 
Words, as husky Ocean 
In the breaking motion 
Where the coast lines quell the 
Ground-swell, speaks, rejoices, 
Could they tell thee, seeing, 
Would they know to tell thee. 
Where the emanation 
Of their soul out-poureth, 
When the exhalation 
Of their spirit soareth, 
When or where, — or whither 
Goeth, or whence hither 
Comes athwart their being? 



-m 



70 V^oya£-e 

Neither can I say, dear, 

When I think of thee, dear; 

Neither can I tell thee 

Where thy love-wrought spell me 

Round and round enweaveth. 

For to me it cleaveth 

Like the golden power 

Of the perfumed flower 

To its chalice. 'Tis my 

Life, Self, Being, Bliss; my 

Very Self and Being; 

'Tis my sense elysian 

That I live, as vision 

Knows itself in seeing 

And the ear in hearing: 

Comes to life. When cleareth 

Most my mind and feareth 

Nothing, then, appearing. 

Shows thy spirit ever 

That it leaves me never, 

Is forever round me. 

Doth forever bound me 

With a pulsing ocean 

Of the waves in motion 

Of my life-deeps deepest. 

What! sweet friend, thou sleepest? 
Hath this balmed florescence 
DroAvsed thee to quiescence ? 
O ! but how thou keepest, 



Voyage ^i 

Breathing in thy slumber, 
Time with every number 
Of my heart-beat! How thy 
Look, to me who know thy 
Wiles, doth sleeping show thy 
Sportiveness. Demurely, 
Blithely tired but surely, 
Thy sweet lid shuts over, 
Like a silken cover 
For a pyx, with russet 
Bound along the gusset 
By thy brown eyelashes. 
Shutting in the flashes 
Of the iris-jewel 
And the jet pit darkling 
In it, in which sparkling 
Burns the chemic fuel 
Of the eye. 

I spare thee 
To thy sleep, — part bear thee 
On my arm, part lay thee 
On the golden pillow 
Of the rocking billow 
Of the breath of Lotus, 
While the air-waves float us 
Homeward; and I may thee 
Hold, thee close hold, when we 
Ride the cloud-crestSo Rising, 
Into space up-spring we 



72 Song 

And, though wingless, wing we 
By love's thoughts, surprising 
The swift light with envy. 
When thou wak'st, the seeming 
Of this flight through beaming 
Sky to Lotus meadow, 
Will be like a dreaming 
Followed by a shadow 
Sweet but baffling ever. 
Yet, again thou never 
Me wilt ask, forever. 
When I think of thee, dear, 
Where I think of thee, dear. 



SONG 

I WAKE to hear the blissful trill 

Of birds on dewy spray, 
Quick, eager chirps that seemed to cry. 

Sing we while sing we may. 

For soon the thirsty noon comes by, 
And drains the dewy springs 

At which we taste morn's ruby wine, 
And plume our rosy wings. 

" Sing on," I cried, " dear little birds. 

It will not take me long; 
Sing on, till for mine own true love 

I have writ down your song." 



WESTPHALIAN FOLK-SONG 

Ye cares begone! leave me in peace; 

God careth for my sorrow ; 
What he to-day denieth me 

'Tis like he gives to-morrow. 
And if to-morrow still denied, 

He other days bestoweth: 
He heareth when I cry to him, 

And what I need he knoweth. 

Who knows where springs the little rill 

That shall my thirst be slaking? 
Perhaps, if thou, my God, so will. 

From foreign soil 'tis breaking. 
For thou dost go with us, our feet 

Through foreign streets to carry. 
And wonderfully leadest far 

From where we loved to tarry. 

Who knows what man by wondrous ways 

For my health care bestoweth ? 
And who for modest gain to me 

Hard labor undergoeth? 
Who knows who plants for me my field 

In which my wheat is blowing ? 
And where the little corn-seed shoots 

That for my food is growing ? 



74 Carol 

Who knows who spreads for me the board 

At which my body f eedeth ? 
Or where God wakes a kindly heart 

To clothe me as it needeth? 
Who knows where now a lambkin leaps, 

His wool for me that beareth ? 
And where the soft bed ready stands 

Which God for me prepareth ? 

Who knows the little place and room 

Which maketh ready for me? 
Who knows the garden-trees that wait 

To shed their comfort o'er me? 
O loving Father, thou dost know. 

And nothing from thee hideth: 
My cares begone! leave me in peace; 

'Tis God for me provideth. 

— German, 



CAROL 



We bless thee, O thou holy, 

Thou dear Christ-child, afar. 
That we so glad in spirit 

This holy evening are. 
O hadst thou not descended 

Upon that holy night. 
How much from us were taken 

That now brings joy and light. 



Carol 75 

Then no wax-light were burning 

Clear in the night without; 
Then were it in our bosoms 
All dark and waste about. 
Then no trees, clad in verdure, 

With sweetest fruits were crowned ; 
And all our childhood dreaming 
Were vain illusion found. 

How deathly cold, how frozen 

Were all about us here. 
How sorrowfully lonely. 

If there no Christmas were; 
But now the sun with splendor 

Sets wintry days a-glow. 
And heaven shines with rapture, 

While tempest whirls the snow. 

We worship and we carol; 

And thou, ah ! thou art near. 
Hear ye the bell a-ringing ? 

The holy Christ is there! 
Wide swings the door, — a glimmer 

O'er all the household flows; 
With holy light, the chamber. 

On holy evening, glows. 

How fragrant is the dwelling. 

All wonderful and sweet! 
How all the trees do twinkle, 

The sun-clear ray to ^reet, 



76 Of Thee 

And all things live and flutter, 
And all things bloom and glow; 

And heaven-high rise the praises 
Of old and young below. 

—Dr. H. K. Hagenbach. 



OF THEE 

I THINK of thee 
When copse and tree 
The nightingale's 
Sweet music fills; 
When thinkest thou of me ? 

I think of thee 
At evening, thee, 
By shadowed stream, 
In twilight beam ; 
Where thinkest thou of me ? 

I think of thee, — 
Sweet pain to me 
It is, and fears, 
And anxious tears; 
How thinkest thou of me? 



I think of thee 
Till joined we be 
'Neath kinder star; 
And still afar 
I think alone of thee. 



— Matthisson. 



NATURE'S MOTHER-VOICE 

When little child sweet rest of sleep 

Not in his cradle findeth, 

His mother fondly speaks to him 

And, soothing, overcometh 

With the soft night the cry of pain : 

He slumbers when she speaks — 

"My darling little child, weep not; 

Be still, be still! 

Sleep on, sleep on!" 

The heart is childish now and then, 
And asks of Life, all eager, 
What life cannot bestow on it. 
Then Reason stands beside it, 
And must the tender mother be 
Who unto passion says — 
" O, of fulfilment dream thou not; 

Be still, be still ! 

Sleep on, sleep on !" 

We go upon a thorn-set road. 

Little with roses blooming; 

But up to heaven the pathway leads, 

Whither divine love calls us. 

Until love streams from radiant skies 

And the tired wanderer hails — 

" Thou hast the end reached, — nay, fear not: 

Be still, be still! 

Sleep on, sleep on!" 

— German. 



ABSCHIED 

What shouting and singing along the wayside ? 
Ye maidens open your windows wide: 
A youth from his home is starting; 
They give him a kindly parting. 

High swing the gay bonnets, loud cheereth the 

crowd, 
Bedecked with blossoms and ribbons proud. 
The youth, he no pleasure showeth, 
But silent and pale he goeth. 

Well peal the full goblets, well foameth the wine; 
" Drink deep, and drink again, brother mine!" 
" O yes, the bright wine of parting 
Allayeth the heart's keen smarting." 

And when to the last, last house they came, 
A maiden peeped from the lattice frame, 
Hiding her tears with the posies 
Of yellow 'pansies and roses. 

And when he the last, last house passed by. 
The youth uplifted a longing eye; 
And then looked down with sighing — 
His hand on his sad heart lying. 



T'hree Riders *j^ 

*' O brother, thou hast in thy hand no flower, 
They wave and nod in yon blooming bower; 

sweetest of girls, toss hither 
Some posies entwined together!" 

*' My brothers, O what is the posy to me ? 
There is no maiden my love will be. 
The sun would wither the posies. 
The wild wind scatter the roses." 

And farther and farther the shout and song: 
And the maiden lingers and listens long ; 
" O woe ! he departed lonely ; 
And ever I loved him only! 

Here stay I, alas, with my love and my woe, 
Where yellow violets and roses grow. 

1 would give him all so gladly; 
But he goeth far and sadly." 

— Uhland. 

THREE RIDERS 

Three riders came wandering over the Rhine 
And with a good hostess tarried to dine. 

" Dame Hostess, hast thou good wine and beer, 
And why is thy sweet little girl not here ?" 

" My malt and wine are fresh and clear; 
My little daughter lies in her bier." 



8o Slumber Song 

And when they stepped within the room, 
There lay she in the silent gloom. 

The first drew back the veil a space 
And looked on her with mournful face. 

" Ah, wert thou but living, lovely maid. 
Thee would I love forever," he said. 

The second covered her face once more 
And turned away and wept full sore. 

" Alas, thou liest on thy bier! 
Thee I have loved so many a year." 

The third one softly lifted the veil 

And kissed the maid on her mouth so pale. 

" I loved thee ever, I still love thee, 
And thee I will love to eternity." 



— Uhland. 



SLUMBER SONG 

Darling, let me kiss thee, 
Little love, good-night: 
Long hast thou been wakeful, — 
Sleep till morning light. 
Now, close thy little eyes, 
To sleep, my child, to sleep. 



Early Summer 

Dreams and visions fearful, 
From my darling flee. 
God's own angel watches, 
Baby, over thee. 
Now, close thy little eye. 
To sleep, my child, to sleep. 

Thy sweet dimples ever 
Laugh, are laughing yet. 
Sleep, O sleep, my child ; 'tis 
Time to sleep, my pet. 
O close, ye little eyes ! 
Sleep, darling, sleep, O sleep ! 



81 



— Germajt. 



EARLY SUMMER 

Bright zephyr, thy beautiful 

Tokens of mirth 
Come enriching and garnishing 

All the glad earth. 
The meadows are flourishing 

Green at thy will. 
And thy verdure is covering 

Valley and hill. 
Without thee, bright element. 
Winter malevolent 
Now would be whitening 

Mountain and vale; 
Languishing, perishing, 
But for thy cherishing. 



82 Early Summer 

All the bright woodlands that 

Welcome thy gale. 
The herbage is blossoming, 

Rising from death, 
A\vaiting the life-giving 

Waft of thy breath ; 
The bee-hive is murmuring, 

Waking from rest, 
And the rose shows her beautiful 

Odorous breast. 

The freshet all turbulent 

Thou dost command, 
And the blossoms their colorings 

Take from thy hand. 
Thou givest to happiness 

All thy bright hours. 
And friendship affectionate 

Crownest wath flowers. 
Aurora shall, dutiful. 
Radiant, beautiful. 
Give up to maidenly 

Flora her charms; 
And forests imperious 
Yield their mysterious 
Secrets and recesses 

Safe from alarms. 
The song: of melodious 

Bird in the tree. 
Where it sits shedding harmony 



spring Song 83 

Blissful and free, 
Disperses the sorrowful 

Burden of care, 
And the sad owlet's murmuring 

Drives from the air. 

— French. 



SPRING SOXG 

The gray old winter must go out; 
He fearful runs the house about; 
His breast is filled with sad alarms, 
He piles his baggage in his arms. 

Without the door the Spring he hears. 
Who soon will have him by the ears. 
And pluck his beard so long and white, — 
In which these roguish boys delight. 

The Spring is rapping loud and long; 
Hark! hark! it is his lively song; 
He knocks and raps howe'er he can. 
With all his blossom-garments on. 

The herald breeze comes blithe and ^vild, 
A chubby, rosy, roguish child. 
And blows a blast till all things ring 
And till our doors wide open swing. 



$4 An Old No'et 

Sir Knight, the Sunshine, rises too; 
He breaks with golden lances through ; 
And clover-breath, soft, flattering, 
Through smallest cranny stealeth in. 

The nightingale pipes loud aloft, 
And hark ! and hark ! an echo soft, 
An echo through my heart doth ring : 
Come in, come in, thou lovely Spring! 

— Muller. 



AN OLD NOEL* 

As formerly the animals conversed, and eke 
Better in Latin than in French could speak. 
The cock, spying from afar the advent blest, 
Crowed boldly, Christus natus est. 
The ox demanded with astonished air, 
Ubi Ubi^ where, where, where ? 
The goat, his nose first wiping clean. 
Bleated his answer, Bethlehem. 
Then master donkey, curiosus 
To go and see, brayed out Eamus ^ 
And, quick upon his feet the calf, 1 trow, 
Twice bellowed loudly, V^olo^ Volo. 

— French. 

* In reciting- this noel it was usual to utter the Latin expressions in a 
manner intended to imitate the voices of the animals whose conversation 
they report. The speaker managed to crow like a cock in the utterance 
of Christus natus est ; and so with the lowing, bleating, braying, and 
bellowing of the others. 



GOOD SENSE 

'Tis good sense, and no mistake, 
What the Volume wise doth speak ; 
Man should never trust to any woman, 
Building fortune on a sandbank human. 
'Tis good sense, as you will find, 
None to trust of woman kind. 

Adam, my first father dear. 

Was like all his sons, 'tis clear; 

For sly Eve misled him so despitef ully 

That in his fall we sinned all most frightfully. 

'Tis good sense, as you will find, 

None to trust of woman kind. 

Women mock us with their smiles. 
As Sarah did, with cunning wiles ; 
They are skillful all at disputation. 
And monopolize the conversation. 
'Tis good sense, as you will find. 
None to trust of woman kind. 

Holof ernes, only see ! 

Who's cut you up so dreadfully? 

Judith, wicked wench, — I not supposing 

She'd cut off my head when I v^as snoozing. 

'Tis good sense, as you will find. 

None to trust of woman kind. 

— German. 



MORXING SONG 

Ws hanfl J see the sunbeam jet. 
Nor yet the moming bells are set 
In the dark valley linging. 

How stm the Tnrood's wide chambers seem! 
The birds but twitter in a dream. 
No song as yet up-springing. 

In meado\i^ I have long delayed. 
And now tins little song imve made 
And it aload am singing. 

—VUmmd. 

PYTHAGORAS TO HIS DISCIPLES 

Oh! race, with fear of frigid death distrest. 
Why Styx, ^rhy shades, w^hy empty names so 

dieadfnl — 
A singer's tales, a w^icked worid's religion ? 
If flaming pile or wasting age unknit 
Thy body's frame, bethink thee of thyself. 
Who ait exonpt from all such outward chance. 
S : u^ ^ " : uch not death; and leaving former seats, 
A ; ne^'^ bcxnes they find, and welcomed lire. 

I -- ir.. ember yet the Trojan war, 
^^< -at time I ^ras Panthcndes Kuphorbos, 
V 7 . in my breast the y«mg Atreides fixed 
H e spear. My shield I call to mind, 

TI.c c'uiucii of my strong left arm before. 



Morning Star 



87 



At Juno's shrine in Argos of King Abas. 

While all things change, no force the soul inters, 

Which hither wanders thence, and thither hence. 

And occupies such body as it will: 

With equal ease, from beasts to human frame 

And then to beasts again it takes its way. 

It has no time to die ; and as the wax 

Is new inscribed \vith figures fresh and frail, 

Nor lasts the same, nor keeps familiar shapes, 

Yet still endures, e'en so the living soul 

Is still the same, transient in many forms. 

—Ovid. 



MORXIXG STAR 

Thou fresh and beaming morning Star, 
Where goest thou, unveiled and new. 

With all thy gleaming golden hair. 
And, sweeter still, thine eye of blue ? 

Thou art not here a lonely ray; 

Aurora calls us to the field, 
Where peace and pleasure all the day 

The labors of the reapers yield. 



Already birds in shady wood 

Pour out their gay and artless song 
In praise of the Eternal Good, 

To whom, O may my psalm belong! 

— French, 



SIR WINTER 

A Song- for the Fireside 

Sir Winter is a sturdy man, 
Long-lived is he, unbending ; 
His flesh of iron stoutly can 
Bear weal or woe unending. 

If e'er a man were well, 'tis he; 

He ails or sickens never; 

Naught of night-cold or damp knows he, 

And he sleeps in a cold room ever. 

He dons his shirt in the cold, out-doors. 
Nor ever stops to w^arm it; 
He jeers at tooth-ache, nor e'er deplores 
^A pain in his stomach to harm it. 

Of summer flower or singing bird, 
Naught knows he and naught maketh; 
He hates warm drink, and warm sounds heard, 
And all warm things he hateth. 

But when the foxes bark v^ith pain, 
And flames in chimney quiver, 
And round the hearth the lord and man 
Rub hard their bands and shiver; 



Summer Song 89 

When stone and bone by frost are caught, 
And pool and lake are cracking, 
That sounds him well, that hates he not; 
Almost he dies of laughing. 

His castle of ice lies far without, 
By the north pole, on the strand; 
And eke he has a summer-house 
In lovely Switzerland. 

So is he then now here, now there. 
And rules his legions roundly; 
When he goes by we stand and stare, 
A.nd shake and shiver soundly. 

— Matthias Claudius. 



SUMMER SONG 

How jubilant the summer sky. 
When turtle-doves and cuckoos cry, 
And when in wild and leafy wood. 
The song- of nighting-ale is heard. 



We wander in the shady grove. 
And where red berries are we rove; 
The ousel pipes his music low 
And finches drum upon the bough, 



90 May Song 

Beside the blackcap vine we stay, 
On tender moss where shadows play. 
And, flitting by, the cuckoo's brood 
Go babbling through the leafy wood. 

— German. 



MAY SONG 

Sweet May is upon us, the trees blooming fair. 
Let him keep who likes it the house with his care: 
As the clouds wander over the heavens unfurled, 
So roams my heart over the great wide, wide World. 

My father, my mother, may God watch o'er ye ! 
Who knows where my fortune waits distant for 

me ? [side, 

There are so many wide ways I ne'er walked be- 
There is such sparkling wine that I ne'er yet have 

tried. 

Forth, then, brave and cheerful, in light of the sun 
Brave over the mountain, in valley a-down; 
The fountains are singing, the trees rustle near. 
My heart is the glad lark, its voice loud with cheer. 

O Roaming, free Roaming, of free souls the part. 
When God's breath blows mighty and fresh thro' 

my heart. 
When singing exulting, under the sky 
How fair thou appearest, thou world wide and 

high. —GeibeL 



PEACE 

Friend, I am contented. 
Be things as they will. 
In my modest cottage 
Live I glad and still; 
Many a fool has all things 
That his heart can hold ; 
Mine is sweet contentment, 
Richer far than gold. 

Candles none delight me 
At my evening meal ; 
No wine glimmers softly, 
And no goblets peal ; 
Still enough have I, each 
Moment for its need, 
And my labor sweeter 
Makes my daily bread. 

Palace high and lofty 
Gives nor pain nor care; 
Also in my cottage 
Flows the sunlit air. 
Where contentment dwelleth 
Sleep is soft and free, 
Be it down or husking 
That the bed may be. 



— German. 



EVENING SONG 

I STOOD on the mountain-side, 

While the sun was setting ; 
Thrown o'er all the woods I saw 

Evening's golden netting. 
Clouds of heaven above the field 

Dewy hung, and weeping; 
Lulled by evening-tolling bells 

Gentle earth lay sleeping. 

Said I, " O my heart, be still, 

Still with silent nature. 
And prepare thyself to rest 

With each earth-born creature." 
All the little blossoms then 

Closed their eyes in slumber, 
And the still brook sang to sleep 

Wavelets without number. 

Then the coy Sylph, under leaves 

Hid, where no one passes; 
And the dragon-fly, bedewed, 

Slumbered on the grasses. 
Roseleaf, to a cradle turned, 

Rocked the golden chafer; 
Shepherds led away their flocks 

To enfold them safer. 



EartJi's Beauty 9^ 

Dewy larks sought joyfully 

Low nests in the clover, 
And in glens the stag and doe 

Slept, for day was over. 
Blessed he who owns his roof! 

There sweet sleep comes o'er him; 
And if far from home he roam. 

Kindly dreams restore him. 

—RiJLckert. 



EARTH'S BEAUTY 

What makes the earth so fair, so fair ? 
Who knows? The birds, they do. 
On their feathers light they spring, 
And joyful songs they sing 
Far up in the heavens blue. 

What makes the earth so fair, so fair ? 
The lake and the waters know. 
In mirror clear they will 
Paint garden, town and hill. 
And the clouds that over go. 



And the singer and painter know; 
Other folk too, in goodly part. 
And who paints it not, he sings it; 
And who sings it not, loud rings it 
For very joy in his heart. 



— German, 



ALPINE SONG 

O SHEPHERD boy, O shepherd boy ! 

Thou sing'st so fresh and free, 
Upon thy verdant mountain side, 

Thy cheerful melody. 
O joyful is thy mountain-love, 

And sweet thy song to me! 
O were I now a shepherd lad. 

Thou happy boy, like thee! 

Then would I sing till echoes wild 

From rock to valley rang, 
Till to my voice in all the world 

Each heart rejoicing sprang. 
The Alpine rose its sweetness sheds 

Down from the hills along; 
O Mountain-love, so fresh and free. 

Bear swiftly on my song. 



-German, 



SONG 



O WHEN shall my love come to me. 
When shall she come to me, sweet, my love, 
Under the shade of the weeping tree 
That stands in the beechen grove? 

Come in the morn, in the morn, love mine. 
And I'll pluck thee a dew-wet columbine. 



Song 95 

O when shall my love come to me, 
When shall she come to me, sweet, my love, 
Under the rick of the new-mown hay, — 
A fragrant thatch above ? 

Come in the noon, in the noon, my dear; 
The reapers rest and the field is clear. 

O when shall my love come to me. 
When shall she come to me, sweet, my love, 
At the rocky bend where the echoes be, 
And the river coos like a dove? 

At evening come, at twilight, sweet. 
When the day and night, like lovers, meet. 

Come in the morn, in the morn, love mine. 
And I'll pluck thee a dew-wet columbine, 
In the sweet gray morn when lilies v^eep. 
And eyes are bright with the dew of sleep. 

Come in the noon, in the noon, my dear, 
The reapers rest and the field is clear, 
'Tis left for the sun, the sun and me. 
To wake and wait at the trysting tree. 

At evening come, at twilight, sweet. 
When the day and night, like lovers, meet; 
We silent sit by the shining stream. 
Till the late moon rise; then part to dream. 



SPRING 

Lovely Spring, O come thou hither, 
Spring beloved, O come again ; 

Bring us blossoms, leaves and singing. 
Deck again the field and plain. 

To the mountain would I wander. 
Revel in the valleys green, 

On the sweet grass and the blossoms 
Lie, and drink the sunlit scene. 

I would hear the shepherd piping, 
I would hear the sheep-bell ring, 

And rejoicing on the meadow, 
I would hear the birdies sins: 



-German. 



GOING TO THE GREAT CITY 

My little child, my poor Marie, 
You long the great, great town to see; 
Thy mother and this country-place 
To leave, and turn thy little face 
To the great city. 

At least until to-morrow's light, 
My little girl, put off thy flight, 
And, once more in my arms the while, 
Sleep on my breast, and on me smile 
For very pity. 



Separation 97 

Believe me, O my poor Marie, ^ 
And stay here in thy home with me. 
This country-place, where blessed peace 
Will soothe thee till thy longings cease 
For the great city. 

They tell me in that distant spot 
That God in heaven is soon forgot. 
And soon thy mother. Ah ! thou may 
Thy God and mother throw away 
In the great city. 

—-French, 



SEPARATION 

I. 

I SAID, dear Friend, that I would write 
To thee no more, but let the night 
Of silence fall upon my verse, 
Which erst did thy dear praise rehearse. 
But how, alas, can night prolong 
Its shades at sunrise ? How can song 
In night's brown silence lie asleep, 
When love and morning from the deep 
Of heaven come as one? So I, 
Finding thy love each morn rise high, 
Must set in tune my heart's glad cries 
To see that light come up the skies; 

For when love shines, no dark can be; 

And pen must write when heart can see. 



98 Separation 

II. 

I said, dear Friend, that I no more 
Would write to thee; and I forbore 
With ease, when 'twas but to control 
Love's pain, knowing thine own true soul. 
The night of silence darker fell. 
When at its sundown tolled the knell 
Of buried fellowship of mind 
And sweet communion in that kind. 
And O, when noble thoughts I read 
That thrill me through, thee, whom I need. 
Crying for vainly, then the dart 
Of pure despair impales my heart. 

Speak, Soul ! O why must thou be taught 
This grief, to be bereaved in thought ? 

III. 
I said, dear Friend, that I to thee 
Would write no more. But let it be 
A needless vow; for who disclaims 
The impossible, but reason shames. 
How can I sing, or how can write. 
Lacking not only voice, but sight? 
For since I was bereft of thee. 
It is so dark I cannot see. 
Motions of darksome matter weave 
No light unless the mind receive 
Their threads; and, though light-making, mind. 
Unshaken by these waves, is blind. 

Thine was the force my heart did shake; 

Thou gone, itself no light can make. 



VOICELESS 

Now, now I can sing ! 

Rise, Sun! Shine forth, O Moon! 

Now I, even I, can bring 

Ecstasies to match thy noon 

Of shadow or of Hght. 

For not the arctic night 

Has half so much of rest, 

And not the cardinal light 

Of dawn, with Como's vapors drest. 

Is half so warm and bright, 

Nor madrigals of love where rove 

The singers of Amazonian grove, 

Half so melodiously swarm, 

As my heart sings, restful, bright and warm. 

O! friend, my friend, why doth my song 
So choke my voice? I strive to wrest 
And pluck it forth to plant it in thy breast; 
It will not, for my utmost, move. 
Its roots strike down too deep and strong. 
And hold like penetrating love. 
What can I? Nurse it till it bloom; 
Then nurse the flowers to ripened seeds ; 
Then plant these in thy heart's sweet room, 
While mine, to serve no better, bleeds. 
And if they shoot in thee, 



lOO 



Actum Est 



Till to my unsung song they grow, 

Wilt thou not in thy soul know me, 

And say, " He singeth so? " 

O now inter me thus in bliss 

To raise me unto blessedness! 

Die thus, my thoughts, and be at rest. 

To live in the " heaven of her breast ! " 



ACTUM EST 

Bleeding and bruised, upon the ground. 

Under the lash a slave lay bound. 

But lifting in his shame his eyes 

To the whip which levied his tax of pain, — 

The lash was silk, glowing with dyes. 

In whose bright braids his blood-red stain 

Was sunk like scarlet in gold skies. 

The handle that swung the lash was ebon, 

Inlaid with pearl like a milky ribbon. 

The tip was gold, whence amber streams 

Of light fell, as a topaz gleams. 

Rude pain was pleased ; torture beguiled ; 

The suffering eyes first gleamed, then smiled. 

Fair Friend, thou holdst me so: thou by. 

Fastened on thee, my heart and eye 

Forget thy loveless blows; thou gone, 

I feel the smart and shame alone. 

Woe's truth, such wounds the heart may feel 

As heaven, thyself, may hide, not heal. . 



DIFFICULTIES 

I WALKED one morn and met a brier, 
Sharper than blades of fire: 
The morning sky flushed roses. 
Fie, Fie, thou thorny provocation! 
I'll set thy angry habitation 
Blooming with posies. 

But figs of thistles can men gather. 
Or grapes of thorns ? Yea, rather 
That so thyself, O master, 
Thou didst, thou didst, and by example 
Hast taught to wring a harvest ample 
From sharp disaster. 

And shall I vex me of a brier 
Though sharper it be than fire 
To bite my will, mind, sight? 
Bah ! thorny thin^? beshre w thy scratching ! 
I'll show thee will for overmatching 
Thy unkind spite. 

Against thy barbed and bristling fence 
I hurl my heart, till thence 
Bleed miracles of power; 
Then on thy prickles, will ye, nill ye. 
With wonder or with shame to fill ye, 
I'll grow a flower, 



STUFFING 

A TURKEY we stuff With bread, 

With onions a goose, 

With mince of its kind a pig's head, 

With biscuit again, but more loose, 

A fillet of veal; — 

Each makes an honest meal ! 

But take me a man or a woman, — 

Small odds, so the meat shall be human,- 

With literature stuff it, 

Cayenned with ambition. 

And just a suspicion 

Of iron and galls 

To spice it and puff it — • 

Ah! then you have messed it, 

A dish that too rich is, — 

A turbulent ration 

That stomach appalls. 

I tell you enough it 

Would hazard an ostrich's 

Maw to digest it 

Without aggravation. 



DIOGENES TO THE PERSIAN 

I WARN thee that thou think not, foolish king — 
Or king of fools, since not first of thyself 
Thou canst enslave the Athenian people, more 



Sanguinaria loj 

Than thou canst make the fishes slaves. " Cannot 
[ catch fish," say'st thou! Yea; but what of that? 
Instantly they escape as fishes do; 
For if you catch a fish, it dies. Catch thou 
These men, the Athenian State, — shall they not die ? 
What hast then for thy pains, thou king of fools ? 



PATIENCE 



All are weak and all are strong, 
Patience righteth every wrong. 
All good things the will must task, 
All achievement patience ask. 
Chiefly with each other's weakness 
Need we patience, love and meekness. 
Who takes ill another's ill 
Beareth two loads up the hill. 



SANGUINARIA 

Once on a time, in early spring, 
When birds came back on eager wing. 
And every plant and creeping thing 
Moved cheerily; 

When buds and blossoms lifted heads. 
Wet with fresh dew, from mossy beds, 
And tangled sunbeams, torn to shreds. 
Hung every tree; 



104 Sanguinaria 

A little bloodroot felt the heat, 
Came quickly from her dark retreat, 
And brought her leaves and buds to meet 
The genial sun. 

Ah! ha! she said, I will be fine! 
What golden tips my leaves confine, 
With what white snow my petals shine, 
Shall now be shown. 

I'll spread my calyx, so to be 
Wide open for all eyes to see 
The snowy star inclosed in me, 
With heart of gold. 

Done quicker than the time to tell, 
Her calyx doors she opened well; 
Alas ! the slender sepals fell 
Which did enfold 

Her secret beauty. Opened quite. 
No more a half-concealed delight, 
She lay exposed to common sight. 
Her sweet charm flown ; 

And learned too late the testament 
With simple state to be content. 
Nor spoil the tender graces sent 
To be half known. 



RECOVERY 

Left is mv bed, 

Sickness is fled, 

My strength returning. 

The window by, 

Or desk, am I, 

Old joys new learning. 

In how soft air. 
In light how rare 
On earth reposing, 
I sit again 
And hold my pen, 
A song composing! 

Now all blest be 
These things I see 
So bright, — sun, weather, 
White feet of noon, 
Night's jeweled shoon. 
Dawn waking th' heather, 

And blest be He 

Who lovingly 

My care dispersing, 

Frees me from pain. 

That I again 

" Relish my versing." 



LOVE AND LAW 

**^He kealetk the broken in heart and bindeth up tfteir -wounds. He 
Ulletk the number of the stars : he calleth them, all by their names" 

Psalm 147 : 3-4, 

Hebrew, who taught thee how to set these brave 
Thoughts side by side? For by these words of 

thine, 
If standing on the earth we watch the sky, 
We see thee toss this heavy ^vorld into 
A constellation; but if we look down 
About our feet, then heaven falls to the earth. 
And such bright mercies throng the way, in 

numbers 
Like sea-shore sands, that we wade deep in skies. 
One Lord the same Lord is who healeth me 
And tells the number of the stars I Bethink thee, — 
This vast of peopled space of burning suns! 
If on the pinions of terrific wind, 
Potent to rend strong oaks, to tear down towers, 
Tossing their guns like playthings in the air. 
And twisting huge wrought-iron beams to curls. 
If on this wind, I say, thou shouldst be borne. 
Past moon, past sun, to catch a star, how long 
Would be thy dizzy journey? A hundred years? 
Yea, and a hundred hundred, and that by 
A thousand, and that doubled still — yea, more — 
Riding on the back of a hurricane, 



Love and Law toy 

To reach the nearest of the gleaming globes 

That kindle watch-fires in the arch of space, 

Like beacons set in a cathedral dome. 

And from that star a great new firmament 

Of stars thou wouldst behold, worlds on worlds, 

rolling 
Upon thy vision, here invisible, 
Strange constellations of shining creatures 
Sketching their mythic pictures on new skies; 
Red orbs and fiery nebulae, weird planets 
Stranger than Saturn, and fierce, hairy comets. 
And if upon that star thou shouldst out-single 
The faintest gleam of light, and leap to it, 
Another firmament would rise before thee, 
With worlds piled to the zenith. And so fol- 
Forever and forever and forever, [lowing. 

And still forever multiplied forever. 

No orb stands by itself, or sails or sings 
Alone; but each one hath a lovely tune 
Which it goes singing for itself, itself. 
While all the melodies, agreeing, sound 
Together, none marred, but woven to one splendor 
Of harmony. These great round lights a thread 
Runs through, which strings them, like to burning 

gems. 
Into a chain of eveningf-lio^htingf stones 
Hung round the neck of Righteousness. One 

thought, 
One form, one Lord, one infinite creation, 



loS 



Love and Laiv 



Down to this little earth, where lovers' lamps 
Are naught but little burning suns on tables, 
And a tear, spilled, falls in a little sphere 
Through space, in conic curve, like rolling planet. 



There is no great, no small, nor aught appraise 
Can w^e, saying, this is the more important, 
Or, this is but a mean and trifling part: 
For all is great in the Eternal Purpose 
That holds it all, and even the whole is small 
Beside the Eternal Life. What is this earth. 
Where men wage wars and build themselves high 

towers ? 
What are the planets moving in concentric 
Curves with the earth, and what is the stupendous 
Sun which ties to itself these whirling worlds? 
Truly, compared with the infinitude 
Which hath no end on either hand, or up, 
Or down, this system of huge worlds, their moons, 
And monstrous sun binding them all together, 
Are but as fine dust, cast by a man's hand 
Into the sky. The mollusk and the polyp. 
The diatoms, whose thin silicious skins 
Deposit deep beds of white, shining sand. 
And hosts of strange and living little creatures 
lr\. water, earth, or air, — these are the dust's dust: 
Yea, and on this imperious rolling ball. 
What is man's body but a grain or mote? 
And yet how spins the earth unhazarded, 
And singing on its way serenely roves 



Love and Law 109 

Around the sun; how prompt the seasons are, 
How full of luscious juices and sweet waters ! 
How lordly planets make their grave obeisance. 
Unto the central king, revolving round him 
And glowing in his light so vividly 
That they may be descried by day, not hidden 
Even by the sun's prodigious beam! How softly 
And faithfully the moons attend their worlds. 
Reflecting the sun's smile over the shoulder 
Of night when that brown nurse bids day begone 
And frowns upon the too indulgent light ! 
How man's body thrives, and the little insects, 
And zoophytes rooted like plants — how all 
Flourish and swarm, momentous to the Power 
That throws a comet, sets a sun aflame. 
And squeezes nebulae till worlds ooze out. 
Before Almightiness, the whole is naught, 
But to AU-lovingness the polyp's hunger 
Cries, and the beast's pangs in his barren den. 

If human minds look out into the darkness 
And gather rays of truth, 'tis His sight sees; 
If human hearts do love, 'tis His love loves; 
'Tis His joy joys, when human hearts rejoice; 
He is eye's eye, heart's heart and being's being. 

It cannot be but grief and pain will come : 
We know not how to strive and never fail ; 
We know not how to have and not to lose; 
There is no way to love and not to fear; 



no 



Love and Law 



There is no way to love and not to feel 

The pangs of parting when seas roll between, 

Or when we search in vain for faithless friendship, 

Or when — less loss — the sky-pits yawn, and friends 

Fall out of sight into their blue abyss. 

Then the One Lord takes up our weary woes 

As he takes up the isles, or steers a star. 

So wonderful his laws that he hath ways 

To cope with our great pain. 



God hath two temples — 

The infinity of starry heavens, one, 

Where shining ranks of servants throng and move 

In unimaginable multitudes 

At his command : the lowly human soul 

The other, where he hath made his mercy-seat. 

One Life and Love he is through all that vast 

Distance, from star to heart. Swifter than light 

Or thought he comes from some great sun con- 
vulsed, 

To hold a heart that it break not too far. 

He weighs it in his hand against a world; 

It is as heavy to the Lord as all 

His suns if it the more hath need of healing. 

Praise! Praise! Thanksgiving, Trust and Praise! 
Amen! 



LOVE 

Three berries on one stem 

Ripened may be; 

All sweet, but one of them 

Sweetest of three. 

Ah, so must love be, friend, with thee and me! 

Are lilies, gold and white, 

Petaled in threes? 

And clover where alight 

The prowling bees 

Hath triple leaves ? So love, as lover sees. 

Of lily's cloud-leaf crown 

One leaf shines best; 

And one, where bee sinks down 

On clover crest. 

So love, that hath three kinds, hath one most blest. 

A shaft poised at mid-part 

In perfect rest 

Love may be, by one heart 

In double breast 

Reciprocal. This kind is love most blest. 



112 



Easter 



But think it rare as mountains 

Or rational dreams, 

When two hearts are the fountains 

Of equal streams, 

Each filling each, as lamps exchange their beams. 

Two other kinds hath love: 

Either to give 

A measure far above 

That we receive, 

Or to receive a greater than we give. 

Alas! in one self lot 
These billows break, 
And on one sea-worn spot 
Double wreck make; 

Worst wreck — the heart which less doth give than 
take. 



EASTER 



Standing on the shore at morning, 

I beheld the shining sea. 
Saw the wreathing vapors mounting 

Into heaven silently. 



Standing on the hill at evening. 
Clouds stooped gently over me, 

Softly from the west ascending. 
And the rain fell silently, 



Wait on the Lord 113 

So, I cried, my spirit's incense 

Sure returneth unto me; 
Upward breathing, falls in blessing 

From our Father, silently. 

So my life up-striving, soaring, 

Where nor eye nor thought can see, 

Comes again descending on me. 
Filled with immortality. 

And the bliss of hope awakens ; 

Earth and sky I clearer see; 
And I carol, in my gladness, 

Easter hymn and melody. 



WAIT ON THE LORD 

" Wait on the Lord! Be of good courage and he shall strengthen 
Mty heart. Wait, I say, on the Lord ^ Psalm 27: 14, 

On Psalmist's word 
A Rabbin's voice is heard 
Commenting, saying 
To souls praying, 

Et iterum ora; 
Veniet hoi'a 
^ua tibi dabitur^'' 

I hear a Master's speech 
The same faith teach — 



114 



Wait on the Lord 



A Master dear to heart. 

Standing far apart, 

So great, so high above, 

And yet with lowly men 

Living, in toil and pain, 

In meekness and in love. 

He saith, "Ask, it shall be given ; 

Seek, ye shall find in heaven; 

Knock, it shall opened be." 

But not so s'weet to know 

The Master's lips have spoken so. 

As my soul leaps to see 

He speaketh like to all the holy men : 

And softly comes again. 

Like an echo in my ear, 

The song of Hebrew seer, 

Et iteru7?i oraj 
Ve?i{et hora 
^ua tibi dahitur?"* 



O when the soul is faint, 

When visions die, 

When life is wrecked upon complaint. 

And scattered lie 

Hope's arrows — years long. 

With purpose strong, 

Kept bound within one sheaf — 

When pain and loss and grief 

Prey on us, 



Hymn of Spring 

When thought and doubt and love 

Weigh on us, 

Then hear, all sounds above, 

JBt iterum or a; 
Veniet hora 
^ua tibi dabiturP 



"5 



HYMN OF SPRING 

The softened mould is brown and warm. 

The early blossoms break, 
And loosened streams along their banks 

A mossy verdure make. 

A dewy light broods o'er the earth, 

A sweetness new and rare; 
The voices of brook, bird and breeze 

With music wake the air. 



Awake, O Heart, awake and learn 

The secret of the Spring ! 
From winter-sleep it comes like light. 

Or as a bird on wing. 

And if I shall be winter-locked, 

As sometime I may be ; 
If bitter storms and freezing snows 

Come whirling down on me — 



Ii6 Together 

Let me lie patient, like the earth, 
And say, " This shall be rest;" 

And then, O Lord, at thy dear call, 
Arise renewed and blest. 



TOGETHER 



O FRIEND, my heart is so 

'Tis blessedness to know 

Thou art but on this earth 

Of tearful mirth. 

Even though I see thee not. 

The wide world is a garden spot 

Where thou dost walk; 

The lilies drink thy sweet, wise talk, 

Until they, being filled. 

Have overflowed and spilled 

The silver rain upon the air. 

It runs and ripples everywhere. 

Filling the springs with music more than the 

brooks can bear; 
Whereby thy voice I hear 
Pouring a freshet's murmur in my ear, 
Mingling with " breath of morn" and hush of even. 
For if thou live. 
Life's full of thee; 
And if thou give 
But aught to me, 
Thou givest me not less than earth and heaven. 




THREE RABBINS 

Under a green-gold sky 

Of eve, in Italy, 

Assembled Rabbins three. 

From neighboring towns, whence they 

Each week met on a hill 

Sequestered, with near hills 

Begirt, high but not steep. 

With wide horizon crowned. 

Great trees, sparse sown, poured shades 

Which lengthened, with slant sun, 

Down the green slope, and spread 

Their quiet on the lake 

Beneath. There mirrored, stars 

Made double heavens. Far 

The country stretched away, 

A gleaming golden plain, 

Towns, vineyards, villages 

Of gardens, to the sea's 

Silvery sand foam-laced. 

And undulating blue. 

Of high things they communed — 
Their faith, their holy law; 
The sorrows of their race, 



ii8 



Three Rabbins 



Their hopes, deferred, not dead^ 
The glory yet to come, 
The great Expected One; 
Immortal life; and love 
Of the One Father, great 
As truth, to triumph yet 
In Israel's covenant. 



Akiba oldest was, 

An aged man, but strong; 

His hair and reverend beard 

Were w^hite like snow; his eyes 

Quiet and deep and dark. 

Yet flashing oft with fire. 

As when cloud-fissures sail 

Before the burning sun, 

And his beams break, bright, fierce. 

The next, a younger man, 

Jose ben David ; yet 

Dowered with years, and filled 

With the awed look of thought; 

But with a simpleness 

Of patience in his face. 

A young man was the third, 

Abi bar Chija: called 

Howe'er to high renown, 

A scribe in Israel. 

Dusky his orient skin, 

But his dark hair shot gold 

In the sun, and his eye was calm. 



Three Rabbins 119 

Silent the three, the while 

The day upon her breast 

Lodged fondly the young moon, 

Then laid it in the arms 

Of night, dark nurse, who crooned 

A slumber-song. It lay, 

A silver crescent, close 

To a lone star, which caught 

The dark limb's shining edge, 

Reflected in the lake 

Where failing ripples waved 

Once more a scarf of light 

To the charmed shore, and died. 

Awed they gazed, till the hush, 

Holy, Akiba broke : — 

Lo! behold! look! see the godlike glory! 
Gone the sun : the last train of his garments 
Sweeps the sea, and after him night closes 
Fast the portal of the west, enwrapping 
Man and beast in precious, tender shadows. 
When the darkness comes, a scythe-armed chariot, 
Mowing earth's tall spires, the stars discover; 
And the buried sunbeam casts the moonbeam, 
As dead fathers smile from children's faces. 
Often have I wondered what becometh 
Of the sunlight in my eyes extinguished. 
And have thought mayhap my very wonder 
Fused with it, or thoughts of that same wonder, 
Streaming to the moon back, past it streaming 



t20 



Three Rabbins 



To the light-source of the moon, the sun, thence 

Past the sun to orbit-rolling planets, 

Past them to fixed stars that gleam as softly 

As blue eyes from dusky brows; and, widening 

As it pours, like fluent fire, envelops. 

Fervent, lucent, all the glowing heavens. 

Wherefore, the great sunlight, or the moonlight, 

Fixed stars, or the orbit-rolling planets, 

Ranging unimaginable spaces. 

And thought's fluctuant fire leaping from darkness, 

Turning back the beams and hurrying with them 

To involve the heavens — do these differ? 

What avouch the hymns, more ancient even 

Than our holy law, than Amram older. 

Whose great son brought down the law unshriv- 

eled 
From the flames of Sinai; canticles sacred 
And of age-lost lineage where the Indus 
Like a mother draws Chenab and Jhelum, 
Sutlej and Ravi, crowding in her bosom 
From the plain five-watered where they gambol — 
What report these hymns but, unsecretive, 
This same thought ? Once, say they. Soul, Soul 

only. 
Was this Universe, One, Eternal. Then it 
Fire created ; then the air, flame's pinions ; 
Space was launched ; the sun, the moon sent whirl- 
ing; 
Herbs were fashioned, waiting to be planted. 
Came these essences then. Space, Air and Herbage, 



Three Rabbins 121 

Sun and Moon and Fire, and asked for body. 
" Grant us a form," they said, " wherein to settle 
And eat food." Then Soul, the Vedic hymn says. 
Offered them a cow ; which they refusing, 
Next a horse; this too refused, a human 
Form. "Ah! wonderful!" they cried. Soul bid 

them 
Enter and possess, each to his kingdom. 
Fire became speech — at the mouth it entered. 
Air was breath, and rushed into the nostrils. 
Sun was made sight, in the eye's orb burning, 
Darting on all things. Resolved to hearing 
Was the azure, lodging in the chambers 
Of the ear. The herbage turned to tresses. 
Clothing the skin with tissues of vibrations. 
Last the moon, strange image, but unfit not. 
Turned mind, hiding in the breasto Plain meaning : 
Heart and heavens unsegregate, life single; 
Body and the warmth of body unseparate 
From the gelid spaces where the starry 
Arks float, with their freight of minds flesh- 

ermined ; 
Speech the beams of suns and flames of planets 
Dowered with throats and joined with the ear of 

^ther; 
All in one, love uttering and love hearing; 
Seeing love too, by sight in light, one substance. 
Same in me and in the sun's corona. 
Light, sight, thought, love, one, from deeps eternal, 
From a darkness which is light but deepening. 



122 



Three Rabbins 



'Tis the Lord's own doing ! Saith an elder, 
" Flame from flame man kindles, cannot kindle 
Light from shade; God kindles light from dark- 
ness;" 
As saith Scripture, " Night shall be light about us : 
Both alike to Him are light and darkness." 
Lo! the moon, breaking from space with circling 
Pomps of stars! God-like it swims His heavens. 

So old Akiba spoke. 

Meanwhile sweet shades came down 

As if dark night smiled, pleased, 

Upon his light-like words. 

The twilight green became 

A tenderer darkling glow. 

Half dark the brown-gold plain 

Of country stretched away, 

And darkening gardens lay 

Flecking with soft earth-brown 

Towns, vineyards, villages. 

The line of silver sand 

Now with a deepening gray 

Faced the sky-darkened sea. 

A hush on hush was laid. 

As if the darkness breathed. 

Then Jose spoke and said : 



Say not that the moon resplendent ranges, 
God-like the heavens; it is God in his heavens! 
Saith our law, " The Lord's face shine upon thee!" 



Three Rabbins 123 

Which — have not our elders written ? — meaneth 
That his countenance upon us breaketh, 
Yea, upon our eyes, when light ariseth. 
Wherefore, is he not what is the glory 
Of his countenance, unveiled and living ? 
Seen his face ! It is God in his heavens ! 

Then answered him and spoke 
Abi bar Chija, thus: 

Fathers, many are your years, and many 

More than mine, and your rich wisdom greater; 

But my soul says, God his heavens is also. 

Weigh I oft that saying of the elders, 

" Why doth David ^ith his soul the Lord praise ? 

Answer, As the soul doth fill the body, 

So God fills the universe. The prophet 

Jeremiah saith, ' Do I not fill the 

Earth and heavens?' Come, soul that fill'st the 

body. 
Praise the Lord the universe who fiUetho" 
Glories of the heavens, showering earthward. 
Glories of the earth rolled through the heavens. 
Forces, fires Titanic, riding the whirlwind, 
Nay, and all the small and tender blossoms. 
Nay, even human triumphs, monarch's splendors, 
Armies' prowess, senates' wisdom, nations. 
Arts and engines coping with strong matter, 
Lives and deaths of saints and songs of poets, 
Toil of laborers, and love of women 



124 Three Rabbins 

Brooding on their children — all is only 
His one body, close before our vision, 
Whereby, like a friend, we know him always. 

While yet they spoke, the moon 
Dipped in the beckoning sea 
And vanished. Rising then, 
The old Akiba said : 

Come, sons, let us go. God is his heavens. 
Hath not now the young moon gently fallen 
Off the west into love-eager ocean ? 
Yet is here divinity diminished. 
Or is God extinguished? In the heavens 
Float we midway, held up in their spaces, 
Moving, living, loving in their cycles; 
And he fills the soul who fills the heavens. 

Then answered Abi thus : 

Who by thinking can divide his spirit 
From God, yea, or utter how he lieth 
In the bosom of one life eternal ! 

To whom Jose replied : 

Thought can never pierce its own arising 
Or divide itself from its beginning. 
This is love's own oflnice, to me showing 
That I am a needful child, up-looking. 



Three Rabbins 



125 



Trusting, lone, dependent, saying Father. 
Where thought ceases, quelled, love flieth, daring, 
Resting poised where thought is wings unbuoyant. 
Love is knowledge, and in one ingathers 
All the bounds and many kinds of knowledge, 
Showing how this weaves with that, and fash- 
ioning 
Glories of intelligence all-holding, 
Penetrating, to which the heavens are mirrors, 
Stars the lamps that throw therein earth's image. 
But lone thinking, cold, unflamed with loving. 
Is betraying, confident, perfidious. 
What doth mean the gentile fable? — Pallas, 
Springing from Zeus, plotted to dethrone him; 
Then Briareus, born of cold sky. Wisdom, 
And of tender-flowering earth. Love, climbing 
The aether, sat by Zeus, and by the terrible 
Fire of his great looks broke down the plotters. 
The great Syracusan, though sidereal 
Station for an axis furnished, could not 
Loose and lift the earth as a child's grieved bosom 
Heaving under it with hurt love, or quicken 
Its whirl like the heart-throb of the eloquent 
Roman who the geometer's grave discovered, 
Erst lost, by the triple wall, with brambles 
And neglected thorns o'ergrown. If man's heart, 
Whelmed with its own torrent, struggle, stars 

shake. 
Paling aghast, or brightening, as his passion 
Wof ul or joyful is, — no matter, so it be 



126 



Three Rabbins 



Love, pure, living love. Of love the proof is 
That it overmasters other passions — 
Prides and pleasures, prejudices, terrors. 
Indolence and selfishness, revenges. 
Envies, vapors of rank self-ambitions. 
Each alone or all together, bursting 
Over black flames like a witch's cauldron. 
Love, love is all-masterful to vanquish. 
First with meek heart love loves every being. 
Gathering all; then on one fastens, mighty: 
For that one then loves the whole the better. 
With new light and reverence of loving ; 
Which at last fills space as full as heaven 
With a new religion, overflowing 
With supreme interminable knowledge. 



He ceased; and all three stood 

Clothed by dun evening mild; 

By all-relating night 

To likeness brought. The dew 

Had changed from diamonds clear 

To yellow gems, then black. 

But gleaming still, jet light. 

Gloom soft as down was spread 

On earth w-armly asleep. 

All lineaments faded. Woods 

No longer separate stood, 

But to one ebony turned, 

And prone, imperforate, 

Naught but a gibbous gloom 



Three Rabbins 



127" 



Inclining from the plain. 
Shapes fled, save that some spots 
Of denser gloom on gloom 
Seemed like night-swallows' nests 
Made in a bank of night. 
The country stretched away, — 
Cimmerian seas becalmed. 
Towns, vineyards, villages 
By murmurous tides o'erflown 
Of rolling glooms. The sea 
Unwrapped a crape of mist 
To clothe the gloom. And night — 
As when — God's delegate power — 
As when at her child's bed 
A mother puts out the light, 
But stays by, in the room. 
And fills it with a glow 
The child's shut eyes can see, 
His fraught heart feel — so night. 
The dear, dear nurse, us sent 
By the great Physician, saw 
And smiled, and smiling made 
The gloom precious with love. 



The three friends down the hill 

Walked slowly. Soon one turned 

A corner of the dark 

And was engulfed; then soon 

The other; and alone 

The old Akiba paused 



128 The Bishop'^s JSyes 

In the living, loving gloom — 

Then lifted up his voice 

And cried, that the skies rang, 

^^Sc/i^fna Tisrael^ Adonai Elohainu^ 

Adonai echad! " Hills shook. 

Echoing the holy name. 

Then instant on his voice 

Twain voices broke, rolled through 

The detonating dark, 

As the whole air were voice, — 

"Hallelujah! Amen!" 



THE BISHOP'S EYES 

A Latin Bishop, so the story runs. 

Under the beaming suns 

Of Italy, where tender skies 

Cover man's head with dyes 

Of soft, indulgent hue. 

But leave as much to do 

As in a stormy clime. 

With patience and with time 

To strive against the earth. 

Blind stuff and blinder self to overcome, 

To stock the land with mirth 

Of sweet children in sweet home. 

With holy fervors of mid-age, 

With wisdom of the sage 

And victory's humility that crowns the old,- 



The Bis hop'' s Eyes 129 

This Bishop, say I, always did uphold 

A countenance so bright, 

An eye so undisturbed, serene, 

And such a radiant peace, 

Which not alone was seen 

In the benignant face. 

But seemed to clothe the body with its grace, 

That men did wonder at it, as at light 

From no source visible, which yet did never cease. 

And one thus spoke : " How is it, sir, that shine 

Of heaven seems always thine ? 

For thou hast had great griefs, and not alone 

Dost bear thine own. 

But with the sympathy of thy great office, share 

The woes of many and their sinful care. 

I see thee haunt the doors 

Of the Lazaretto, and its plague-swept floors. 

Thou art familiar where 

The pain-racked and the dying. 

The starving and the crying. 

The sinful and defying 

Rend the air. 

Yet over-taxed with labors hard to bear. 

Thou hast been menaced often, often hated. 

Even for thy deeds most worthy. Whence, so 

fated. 
Hast thou that cheer, invincible and sweet. 
Which always in thy countenance we meet?" 
The Bishop, with a twinkle and a smile, 
Made answer, and the while 



130 



The Bishop''s Eyes 



With the twinkle out did run 

From his eyes a pious fun. 

As from a well when one draws up 

Sweet, serious water, and dips in a cup, 

Silvery drops with starry twinkle. 

Like elfin laugh and wink, o'ersprinkle 

The bucket's wholesome rim, 

So did the Bishop brim 

With ripples of shrewd playfulness, and said — 

"Ah ! trouble not thy head ; 

'Tis plain as the wide skies, 

I gain it by deft usage of mine eyes." 

" Thine eyes ! " the man cried, and looked round 

As if to spy what could be found 

That, looked on, made the looks so bright. 

Then said the Bishop, while another light 

Shone in his face: "Ay! my eyes I turn 

In three directions, and thus learn. 

First, I look up, and say. 

There lies the way 

That in this earthly life must be my aim. 

Then I look down, and think how small 

The bed of earth at last that I can claim. 

Then round I look, and think of all 

Earth's millions, fellows in toil, oft steeped in grief 

Greater than mine. Thus by my eyes I find 

These simples for the mind — 

My body's end, my soul's high call. 

And sympathy, the heart's relief." 



THE SCHOLAR 

My days among the Dead are past; 

Around me I behold, 

Where'er these casual eyes ai'e cast, 

The mighty minds of old : 

My never failing friends are they, 

With whom I converse day by day. 

With them I take delight in weal 

And seek relief in woe; 

And while I understand and feel 

How much to them I owe, 

My cheek has often been bedew'd 

With tears of thoughtful gratitude. 

My thoughts are with the Dead ; with them 

I live in long past years, 

Their virtues love, their faults condemn, 

Partake their hopes and fears. 

And from their lessons seek and find 

Instruction with an humble mind. 

My hopes are with the Dead ; anon 
My place with them will be, 
And I with them shall travel on 
Through all Futurity ; 
Yet leaving here a name, I trust, 
That will not perish in the dust. 

— Robert Southey. 

SouTHEY, thy tender lines with heart 

I read, but not inclined 

To join their dirge, though sweet. Thou art 

Enfolded in my mind 

With those same mighty friends, I said; 

But thou and they are quick, not dead. 



13^ 



The Scholar 



My days among the living I 

Pass joyfully, and see, 

When round my books I cast my eye, 

How great the great may be. 

My never failing friends, like thine; 

But whose such friends are dead? Not mine. 

I share with them their gayest weal, 

Suffer their saddest woe; 

And well I understand and feel 

How much to them I owe. 

But deepest debt I feel when I 

Think they died not — can never die. 

My thoughts are with them. Not that they 
Once thought and spoke and passed ; 
But that they still are thinking, they 
Still breathing songs to last; 
Or Reason's lordly truthfulness, 
Or pure Religion's blessedness. 



My hopes are with them. But not they 

Ambition wake in me 

To soar with them. Like them I pray 

Rich with my lot to be : 

Nor more to leave a name care I, 

If in some hearts I do not die. 



PARTED 

For partin^^s sake alone was death devised i 
On lifers accoutit it needed not have been^ 
But parting is the silver-glance of love. 

— SCHEFKR. 

Too much is never given 

To human lot; 

And if we write of heaven, 

We spill an inky blot 

Of merciless hell. 

But still, 'tis well, 'tis well : 

And so, sweet friend, I lose thee, 

Because 'twere too much joy 

The precious moments to employ 

Both with the love-bliss of my heart 

Wherein I choose thee. 

And with the dear delight thy presence doth impart. 

The sadness is lone, 

The loneliness sad; 

But to love and have thee too, I own, 

Were joy too great and glad. 

Well then, to love is my election : 

I would not lose one grain of my affection, 

Of the deep, dear love I bear thee. 

And my sweet-singing pride. 

Even to hold thee at my side; 

Or, even if, to keep it all, I must out tear thee 

From my life, and from thee live apart, afar 

Upon this earth or tossed to another star. 



LONGFELLOW 

I. 

Poet of simple folk, thou art so wise, 
And from such wisdom-deeps hast drawn thy song, 
Thy page is magical to children's eyes, 
And still to thee the old and learned throng. 
Not thine the writhing verse of riotous thought 
That tosses frothing words into the skies. 
Or from black bottoms in a whirlpool caught 
Stirs up a gleaming slime of passion-dyes. 
These are hot shallows : where the sea is deep» 
The mightiest storm leaves the cool waters clean. 
So doth thy verse blow gales, but never sweep 
Up baneful lees from thy heart-deeps serene. 
Where in sweet visions child and man unite- 
Appear the heights and depths of human sight. 

II. 
Reading awhile, I said — This poet's verse, 
Whereunto shall I liken it? A brook 
That in the valley doth the songs rehearse 
Of mountain-tops, that is this poet's book ; 
And children wade in it from side to side. 
And toss its sparkling drops from face to face. 
Reading again, I said- — 'Tis a river wide, 
A stately stream that flows by towns apace, 
And gathers in its breast toil-songs of men. 
Reading once more, I cried — I sail a sea, 



Amoris Avaritia 135 

A deep where storms and calms of joy and pain 
Mingle in harmony with heaven and me. 

I ceased ; yet not opprest with thoughts in strife 
How this could be. I had been reading Life. 



AMORIS AVARITIA 

I HEARD a voice moan in the dark, 
A smothered voice, as if a heart 
Articulated from the ark 

Of a lone breast. 
Then carefully I drew apart. 
And listened, when I had come near, 
To catch the words, if I might hear 

What so distressed. 

And soon anon the weary moan 

My sense translated to a tone, 

So that the sounds took shape and made 

Words to my ear. 
And thus they said: "So slight my need. 
So very little I do need 
To make me glad, how strange, how sad 

It is not here ! " 

With pity spake T : " Nay, sad heart. 
Sad moaning voice, if 'tis so small 
A thing will make thee glad for all. 
Now tell it me, 



; V* 



136 Atnoris Avaritia 

I have some power, perhaps an art 
To compass this small thing that will 
Endue with joy and blissful fill 
Thy path for thee." 

Answered the mournful voice and said, 

" Oh, give it me, this one small shred 

Of wealth of earth, seas, heaven above — 

'Tis only this: 
A great whole love, a tender love. 
Thought, care and love to compass me 
And live around me. This would be 

My all for bliss." 

"All, all ! " I cried. " I thought that just 
Thou didst bemoan thee for some dust, 
Some little scattering of the wind 

To make thy ease! 
Ask this, beg ' wealth of Orm and Ind,' 
Beseech the treasures over-decked 
In all the vessels ever wrecked 

In all the seas; 

"Ask me rocs' eggs to wheel thy car. 
Or eagle's beak to bring a star. 
Or griffin-guarded books that wake 

Arabian wiles; 
Ask Hecla's fire or Kashmir snow, 
To make thee ear-drops that shall glow 



Amoris Avaritia 137 

With flame around clear pearls, and shake 
Upon thy smiles; 

"A mountain, ocean, iceberg ask. 
And all the furs that swim or bask ; 
Call mammoths from their fossil pales 

For ivory bone; 
Ask birds of paradise, and scrolled 
Orchids that fly like birds, and gold, 
Bronze, ruby, green ophidian scales 

From Amazon! 

" Why these are dust, not hard to give, 
Little to ask. If thou wilt live 
But long enough, around thy feet 

I'll heap these things. 
But love! a heart! a true heart's heat! 
Love living round thee, and love's lone 
Thoughts ever trembling on thine own 

Like sound on strings, — 

" Like sound on strings, where each to each 

Belongs, nor e'er dissever may 

When either wakes ! — 'tis heaven ! Dost know 

Thou askest heaven? 
Oh, fall upon thy knees; beseech 
Forgiveness for thine avarice. Pray 
To offer up thy pain, an^ go 

Confessed and shriven," 



WHERE? 

Where ? Everywhere. Think not she dwells apart 

Whose home is in my heart: 

Where'er I go, she is 'with me; 

In what I see soever, her I see; 

We have together so much toiled, thought, felt, 

That all things to her image melt. 

There is no hour of day or night 

But she has made it bright. 

'Tis she that rises with the moon, 
'Tis she that shines on me at noon; 
And when I look at some lone star, 
I think to journey there with her. 
I hear her where the blossoms stir, 
I feel her where the shadows are; 
All hands are hers, all eyes are bright 
With the clear sweetness of her sight; 
And in all steps I count her feet, 
Whome'er I meet. 

In the high nobleness of books. 
In lofty purpose, and in looks 
Of eyes too high for petty things, 
I meet her; and wherever springs 
The bounty of the generous earth, 
I see the likeness of her worth. 



Where P 139 

In usef ifl and translucent brooks, 
In rivers and in fields of grain, 
In sweet and milk-white breasts of rain, 
And in the circumambient air, 
In veins of stone, in aisles of wood, 
In churches, and where'er have stood 
My feet, my head with reverence bare, 
I meet, I know, I feel her there, 
Where aught is good. 

On mountains looking, her I see; 
She is the wind, she is the lee ; 
I hear her by the sounding sea, 
And if I rock upon the crest, 
I feel the breathing of her breast. 
The while I stand on some lone height. 
She is the wide joy of my sight. 
I take her on a stormy walk, 
I see her where snow-spectres stalk. 
I know her presence in the dark, 
And in all silence her I hark. 
In holy mysteries that feed 
Soul's double sense of strength and need. 
And in strange thrills of power that steal. 
Rousing my spirit, her I feel, — 
Love, life, which me incorporate 
With what is great. 

Break, break, break into words, 

O heart, and let thy gladness with thy words 



140 Comrade 

Mingling, be like the voice of birds 

Tuning on bright sea-shore 

With the waves' significant roar. 

Even of her goodness and good greatness 

My song is worthy. Not because I bring 

Bright waters from Pierian spring 

To which I cannot climb, nor the glorious lateness 

Of mighty bards whose numbers are unknown 

Till long time they have ceased and flown: 

Not worthy thus ; but for that each word sung 

From love's pure well has sprung. 



COMRADE 

L. L. W. 

As possible to put love in one word 

As in ten thousand words. 
In dearest syllable so little is transferred, 

That all the living herds 
Of syllables together, in glossaries that rove, 
Range but a hillside of earth's upland love 
And lie but in the fringes of its grove. 

And shall I speak thee one word, dearest friend ? 

O, yea! Well, now 'tis said. 
Here in my book thou 'rt by me to the end; 

And it when thou hast read. 
Whisper thyself again one true, dear word, — 
Which, spoken, barkened, was ne'er half said, half 

heard 
In all these years, since thee my soul preferred. 



SYCHAR 

M. G. 

" When at the end of our tether, 
And blank the despair is before us, 
Then cometh relief with a mystery; 
Help from a word, from a thought, 

" Strength from a book, from a friendship, 
Or subtlety living about us; 
We gather up, catch at the viewless, 
Wheel and march, armed to the teeth." 

Thus I had read in a letter. 
Which just had come in at my portal ; 
The words giving proof of their meaning 
Instantly unto my soul. 

I was down-hearted and sorry; 
Perhaps had one asked me the reason, 
I had none; yet strangely an aching 
Played like a child at my heart. 

Then at the end of my tether 
Had fluttered the mystic epistle 
Down into my hand ; I up started, 
Helmeted, armed to the teeth. 



1^2 Sychar 

Wonder of wonders befell me; 
And wonders come lone, they say, never, 
The letter enough was for wonder; — 
Now my friend entered the door. 

By the white track of her letter 
So quickly she hastened thereafter, 
That, while her hand-written lay on me, 
Now my friend entered the door — 

Sooth, her hand really she gave me, 
A kiss, and another, bestowing. 
And smiled on me quaintly to see the 
Wonder that opened my eyes. 

Tenderly then and not quaintly 
She smiled ag^ain, seeino^ the feelinof 
Which closed the gates opened with wonder. 
Filling the moat full of tears. 

Simple is wisdom, the wiser 
The simpler it is, and the plainer; 
She greeted me simply and said that 
Close she had followed the post. 

I in her hand laid for answer 
Her written hand, still in mine folded 
And said, "At the end of my tether, 
Buckling my belt with thy words, 



Sychar 143 

"Armed to the teeth with thy valor, 
Thy spiritual armor and power, 
Arisen I was, and in order 
Worthy to greet thee, my friend. 

" Shame will not shame me, nor terror 
Affright me, in sooth, from confessing 
To thee, I was down; but am risen. 
Worthy to meet thee, my friend." 

Answered she, "Why came I hither? 
I know not, but followed a beckoning 
Of spirit, a wandering, a going 
Forth, that I could not control. 

" What if I put in my letter 
So much of my heart, I must follow ? " 
" Sooth, add thereto," said I, " thy office; 
Prophecy joineth with love. 

" Here is the fountain of Sychar, 
And springeth the well that of Jacob 
Was made for his children and cattle; 
Thirsting I come, — and find thee. 

" Beautiful rises the story 
Invading my mind as I see thee, — 
The Nazarene, lofty and lowly, 
Sitting alone by the well : 



144 Sych 



ar 



" Forthwith the woman comes nigh him, 

Not dreaming of aught but the water, 

Yet soon asks, ' When comes He ? ' He answers, 

'I that speak to thee am he,' — 

" He that is always a-coming. 
That was to come far in the offing. 
The offing that always is nearing, 
Always is closing us round. 

" Often it haps in my hurry. 

My struggle, my failure, my sorrow, 

I pass a familiar environ; 

Lo ! and a stranger is there ! 

" Many times o'er I have seen him. 
But now he a wonderful stranger 
Sits there. It is Sychar, at noontide; 
Noontide — the fulness of time. 

" He that is always a-coming. 
That was to come far in the offing. 
The offing that always is nearing, 
Holily closing around — 

"Ah, does he know it, the stranger. 
That God at that moment has sent him. 
Has sent the expected, the promised. 
Who unto me was to come ? 



Sychar 145 

"Lo! all the roadway to Sychar, 
Along all the way from the village, 
I see that the people are walking. 
Each with his vessel in hand. 

" Over the wayside the branches 
Of trees interlace with the heavens. 
Where fleeces of silver are rolling 
High in the beautiful blue. 

" Birds in the limbs interlacing 
Sing joy to the beauty of flowers. 
As thinking the earth were a plumaged 
Mother of musical tribes. 

" Children at play on the borders. 
Hallooing and running all over, 
Are mingled with clouds, with the flowers. 
Branches, and birds in their joy. 

" But the deep eyes, and the faces ? 
But what's in the travelers' faces? 
What question, expression, entreaty. 
Yearning from eye unto eye? 

" 'Tis but one question forever, 

' When cometh the prophet, the promised ? ' 

And each unto each maketh answer, 

' I that speak to thee am he.' " 



146 Presence 

I to my friend turned, thus speaking, — 
For, speaking and thinking, my eyelids 
Had drooped, and turned inward my vision; 
So now, uplifting my head, 

I to my friend turned, thus speaking, 
And looked : she was gone ! I bethought me 
A thousand of miles lay her village 
Distant from Sychar, the well. 



PRESENCE 

M. A. C. 

If I, like the gossamer spider. 

Could spin out song from my heart, 

As the insect spins its silver thread. 

With a strange and mystical art, 

I would spin thee a rhyme, dear friend, 

A lowly and loving song. 

That should have no end like the spider's web 

But float out all day long ; — 

All day long and forever: 

For when I had ceased to sing, 

The simple song and true 

In thine ears should always ring. 

But this strange and mystical art 

Hath not been given to me. 

And what there is in my heart, 

I must keep it there for thee. ^ 

I can not give a sight 



Presence — L . 147 

Of that inner and sacred shrine 

Where the tapers of love forever burn, 

And one of those tapers thine. 

But I tell thee the shrine exists, 

And it is my holy place, 

Where all my loves combine 

In one seraphic face 

Which goes with me every day 

And follows me everywhere. 

It hath the depth of the heavens. 

The sweetness of the air; 

And in the features, beauties shine 

Familiar to my heart in thine. 



L. 

I LOOKED well up, I looked well down, 

I looked me all around; 
But all in vain I sought a spot 

Where love could not be found. 

At last I cried, " I know a place," 
And looked into my heart; 

And there indeed I found a realm 
In which love had no part. 

But then I met with you, and now 

I look below, above. 
In heart and out, and find no space 

But is filled full of love. 



SEERS OF LOVE 

Poets, I thank ye! And ye other throng 
Who chant unversed the creeds of song, 
Ye story tellers, whose vision flies 

Through astral spaces, 
Twixt planetary laughing faces 
And the far watery twinklers, tear-lit eyes,- 
I thank ye from my heart! 
Yea, that heart's self its blessing gives; 
For 'tis by you it lives. 



'Tis not that your magic art 
Me unlocks earth's mysteries, 
I see rainbows with mine eyes 
E'en as you, and sink as far 
In the glory of a star. 
Sitting on the velvet side 
Of a green-napped, light-shot hill, 
Under brown moss-mantled trees, 
I can feel my heartstrings thrill 
To the quiet meadow wide. 
Hear the curfew of the breeze 
Ringing hare-bells; and if birds 
Mated fly, I hear their words, 
And the clashing of the grasses 



Seers of Love 149 

Where the four- winged shadow passes. 

As twin ghosts of birds alighted, 

And the green blades shook affrighted, 

I can chant a part in tune 

With the wild brook's wayward rune; 

Rock young thoughts in crescent moon; 

Lay my head upon a cloud; 

Stretch my hands and cry aloud 

To the kindred break and roar 

Of the sea upon the shore. 

All these miracles I do, 

Blessed bards, as well as you ! 

But oh! when human faith runs dry — 
When love, true love, goes by, — 
Or rather, seeming true; for if true truth, 
'Tis so forever, the same tender sooth! 

Hark! hast e'er seen an eye. 

Dear loved, change till it thrust 

Through thee the blade distrust? 

Was love's last mystic tenderness 

Thee given and taken solemnly, 

Till thou awoke to see 

'Twas tossed thee, as a tress 

Of girl's hair greets the wind, 

Shredded of aims, 

Of brooding care or claims? 

Hast e'er known that? Didst find 

Thyself, heart-wrung, thus praying an ear 



150 Seers of Love 

Ambition-clogged, unquick to hear 

Pain shake thy words? Didst bind 

Thee round some love on earth 

Like strong cords round a wheaten sheaf, 

And hold it, reverent of its golden worth, — 

Worth worth to thee thy costilier belief ; 

At morn, noon, night, one thought in thee. 

Flying in labor's intervals to see 

With eyes devout, in the cloister of thy heart, 

One vestal form; daily planning thy part, 

A boon of service, watch of care, 

A few words writ, a tear, a prayer. 

Thankful to worship — hast loved like this? — 

And took she and partook thy bliss 

With pride, with wish to show 

Thy deeds devout so all might know 

Her sweet proud meed — took all. 

And drained it to the last; then suddenly 

Turned on thee loftily, 

Reproaching thee in fine phrase virtuously 

With thy excess consumed, but sweet 

She said while eating, said 'twas meat 

For life's hard work : — Hast known ? It cracks 

The heart — faith spills; then fall 

Its drops unstaunched, till nothing lacks 

Love's soul of Death's more bitter death 

Than they feel who yield up their mortal breath. 

What name? Is't love, love, love? Or is it — 

What? 
When Thammuz wept, was't tears, because so hot? 



Seers of Love ' 15 1 

What make I then? Shall I choose more unblest 

To be, by faithlessness that any rest 

More blest than I, or by a surly thought 

That hearts are ingrate, love is naught ? 

[ will be less unblest by knowing this 

(Nay, nay, but blest and with pure bliss), — 

That others more are blest, and that there is 

In the wide world a precious faithfulness. 

What if, for that some discord had been hurled 

Athwart a soul, music seemed fled the world 

And praise of sweet accordant sounds ? 

Such would be cured if in the bounds 

He set his foot of woodlands, where are twirled 

The tuned strings of the breeze 

By the fingers of the trees; 

Or came in the fore-gray of the dawn 

To tread dew on a tree-framed lawn 

And hear the madrigals poured by the birds 

From emerald seats, 

Till skies flushed promise of noon heats. 

Glad with the songs, half wings, half words. 

So come, wake soul, and get thee 

To the blithe troubadours 

Who songs of trust do set thee — 

Sweet singers of heart's truth, this world of ours 

With hymns of faith who bless, 

Till all the arches of the wilderness 

Take shape above, 

Gothic with trust and love ! 



152 Seers of Love 

These give to drink, sweet Imogen, 

Of that brave troth of thine, 

Till in the rosy innocence of that warm wine 

I flush again with faith. Evangeline, 

The Saint of love, the same if wife; 

Eke Enid, wifehood's saint, the same 

If maid, ten hundred years whose name 

Hath lived, and shall, — love is such life; 

Burd Helen, Amelia, Beatrice, whose wit 

Shone, for her hid love melted it; 

The Spanish Lady " of high degree " 

Who "well in truth endured extremity; " 

Cordelia's sooth-say heart, Andromache, 

Portia's mid-heaven of love, creation's height. 

And Juliet's dawn devout, the azure youth 

That for noon's canopy builds frames of light; 

Bertha, of the Honey Broth, who bade 

The grave unbar for love; the Moab Ruth; 

Lucrece; eke humble names; and unnamed beams 

Wherewith the Hebrew canticle upstreams; — 

These come, and more, saying in sooth, 

" Truth is, love is, and love's that truth ! " 

How beautiful, when love arrays 
The earth, whatever be the days, — 
Never but blest, whether more dark or fair! 
What gladness. Bards, ye empty on the air 
From crystal flagons, like a river shore 
Of agate, jasper, chalcedony, and rare 
Bright silices, that ope and pour 



Rest 



153 



From shining mouths warm currents, and disperse 

Heart-tropic streams in the atmosphere, 

That by their heat unmingled flow 

In banks of vapors, till the snow 

They melt on Kuh Dinar's white drear, 

That it runs warm into the verse 

Whose beats to Araby rehearse 

Mejnoun and Leilah. 

Thanks, poets, and ye throng 
Who sing unversed the creeds of song, 
Ye story tellers, whose vision flies 

Through astral spaces, 
Twixt planetary laughing faces 
And the far watery twinklers, tear-lit eyes! 
It is my creed ye have an eye to see, 
Of life, of love, what is too dear for me; 
My creed, — ye say it — there is such love, so high; 
There is — ye say it — dear troth under the sky,* 
There is — ye say it — love that's humility ! 

This, this my gladness Is, that ye 
(And what great gladness!) lift up me 
Over my ken, with you to see. 

REST 

Noon rest, soft west, the evening-tolling bell. 
Star light, dense night, the murmurous witching 

spell — 
How dear when we are weary, who can tell ? 



VISIONS— BESIDE HER 

Tw^AS a monntam gathering up its shado\7^ 
Which then it wrapped around a meadow, 
Round a blooming meadow^>maiden. 
And round her neck o'erladen 
With her tresses, pearly 

Of dews o'er-early, — 

O'er-early made 

By mountain shade. 

*Tw^as the ancient, glorious, golden ocean 
Wooing with -wedding song and potion 
Gentle breasts of curving beaches. 
That showed the reverent reaches 
Of his tide of wooing. 

The shy bay strewing 

With delicate dyes 

By his warm eyes. 

*Twas the sky, intoning, pealing, burning. 
Where mouths of light were calling, turning 
Every w^hither, from shadowy faces 
Across reverberant spaces! 
Hymns of gravitation. 

Sung from each station. 

In finer sense 

Woke evidence. 



Wedded 155 

'Twas the planet, sea and shore together 
And choruses of every \veather 
Sunward, starward singing, — sending 
Up orisons orient-bending. 
Chanting night-light, day-light, — 

One loving way-light 

Whereby earth rolls 

Her freight of souls. 

'Twas a dome religious, more than mountains, 
And love- wells, more than ocean's fountains, 
Truth-look, than the star-hymn holier, 
Meekness than shore-line lowlier. 
Face, — Ah! Sacred! — to thee, 

Love-awed to view thee, 

I draw, — I go 

Anear, but slow. 



WEDDED 



He took in both hands her lovely head, 
And looked in her eyes serene, 

Many years married, but still as fond 
As the foolish boy had been. 

And " O my dear," said he, " and my love, 
My dear sweet love and my wife. 

If every kiss w^ere a golden coin 
You would be rich for life. 



1^6 



The Snouo 



*' Nay, if of every kiss I have given, 

Each were but a single penny, 
You would be rich with riches to spare — 

Sweet wife, think how many, how many! " 

" Yea, truly," she said, " yet I'd not barter one 
While I bind up my sheaves of caresses; 

But there's many, O many a poor rich wife 

Who would give all her gold for the kisses! " 



THE SNOW 

Snow, snow. 
Thou art, I trow, 
The coverlet white, 
Soft and light. 
Of the old giant's bed in the sky! 

No! 

Saith the snow: 

O foolish man 

To think you can 
Tell whence I come or whither go. 
I am a dew-drop in my birth. 
And, like the angels, start from earth 

To go up high; 

And then again. 

Return to men. 
In vestment white and new. 
To hide the earth and leave the sky in view. 



YEAR BY YEAR 

L. L. W. 

I SAID, " It is my natal day; 
Now write unto my friend, 
And let me count the years long past 
Since did our spirits blend ! " 

Then spake my hands and spake my head, 
And eke my feet said, " No, 
We are too busy now to do 
As when you loved her so." 

Then up and spake my heart, and said, 
" I am more busy still 
Than hands or head or feet; for she 
My ever}^ beat doth fill. 

" Say thus unto thy gentle friend. 
And tell her eke that I 
Too busy am with present love 
To count the days gone by. 

" Say thus unto thy gentle friend, 
And tell her she shall stay 
To be the business of thy heart 
Forever and a day," 



158 The Prescription 

Now head, be still; and hand, be quick 
And leave thy cares apart, 
Till thou have writ unto my friend 
The message of my heart. 



THE PRESCRIPTION 

I HEAR, — long waiting — hear at length, 

That thou art broken, faint. 

Thy face presaging better than thy strength, 

And weak, Jieart-sinking — dear complaint 

That moves my heart to make me sad ; 

Yet too, makes glad; 

For I am sad 

For all thy pain, 

Yet 'tis a gain 

Of joy to feel love rise to sadness 

And tenderness; — this is the gladness. 

Dear Nature, I will seek thy store 
Of sweet medicaments to heal 
My dear friend's hurt, or else to steal 
Soft melioration o'er her, if no more. 
Rise, help me, all my love-profound 
Study of precious simples, to compound 
A medicine with knowledge sound, 
To give her heart's-ease kind. 

Now thus my balm shall be combined: 
First take I the sky's blue 



The Prescription 159 

Which heals the dim eye till it see; 

Then quiverings of the breeze that knew 

The dear cheek yesterday, 

And now on mine doth play ; 

For from both mine and thine 

A virtue will combine 

To help heart's-ease to thee 

Whose heart is also mine. 

Then sunshine; then the sparkling 

Of free waters ; and then the darkling 

Of pure cool shadows under trees, 

Which the sun woos by messenger — the breeze, 

A cloud's florescence, white, recessed, 

I take — its tincture lulls to rest. 

Then from the moon's peaked horn I drip 

Some golden glintings; and I dip 

The myosotis-shadows from a nook 

Illumined by a fern-enberyled brook. 

Some sounds I need, and take 

The music where the rain-drops break 

On forest leaves ; and the adjacent bird — 

I take his song, at morning heard 

When Dawn welcomes the Day, 

Yet weeps dear Night that goes away. 

So. The draught is good, yet needs 
One more ingredient, one, 
A strong elixir, costlier than aught 
In tropic essences was ever sought; 
So precious that was none 



i6o 



jfesus 



Distilled like it by magic deeds 

Or spells in dearest tale 

That ever to Time's wind spread sail. 

Come, then, I pour you in, my soul, 

My love, my hope, my w^hole 

Of faithful hope and thought. 

My own whole life. Thus fraught, 

The medicine is finished. Go, 

Pure simples, here put up; and O! 

Medicinable be unto her mind. 

And through its channels filter slow 

Till thou her heart shall find 

And give it ease; that she shall think 

This is, though drawn by me, a sky-brewed drink. 



JESUS 

• Alone 

Far have I come, and here pause, mountain 
stopped. 
A peak, cloud-girt, sunlighted by first beams 
And last, with lavish hair of cedars topped, 
Uptowers, feeding the plains with many streams. 

sacred Master, thou art such a height. 

1 climb, yet still thy head escapes, sky-lost. 
Like to an island mountain is thy might, 
Upreared alone. Itself the wide sea's coast: 
The simple records of thy life, a chart 

To lead to thee, make but a small survey. 



jfesus 1 61 

No links can gird thee, nor hath any art 
Of numbers to compute thee found a way. 

But if, thus sailing, we come where on thee, 
Though far, we look, how grand thy majesty ! 

With Others 

Sailing away, I slept, but heard a cry : 
"Awake ! What, saw you but one mountain, then ? 
Oh, that were monstrous in the earth or sky; 
For solitude is monstrous! Look again!" 
I looked, obeyed, and saw, — O glorious sight! — 
Hills rise, peak after peak, a mighty chain ! 
The Persian prophet reared his head of might, 
And Israel's hero-sage uptowered amain; 
And India's seer was one colossal peak. 
And China's moralist in sad, lone state; 
And one was the brave, wise, and gentle Greek, 
Who reasoned in the streets with small or great. 
Master and Christ, how vaster far thou art 
When in such vastness thou dost take thy part! 

With All 

I have but looked away a moment; lo! 
What! have the high peaks sunk, or risen the plain, 
That now they seem but undulations slow 
Along the margin of a mighty main? 
Transported to the sky, this earthly sphere 
Loses its features, forest, meadow, sea, 
And in the firmament it rises clear 
A star among its fellow stars to be, 



1 62 yean Armour 

So, seen with all, the mighty sons of men 

Sink in humanity, their features lost; 

And all, with heroes still obscure, are then 

Into one sky in one star-sprinkle tossed. 

O Master, now how great art thou, on high 
So to be lost, light merged in lighted sky! 

In One 

What these innumerable stars that gleam. 
All fellow, in one sky ? More worlds of men ? 
Or suns of worlds! And from the farthest beam 
New firmaments; beyond these, new again. 
In this infinity, no one is aught; 
Yet faintest spark is safe, and ixv it fall 
All joys and woes, and songs are sung, love sought; 
And all are found and lost in God, — yea, all. 
Great Master, Son of Man, alone thou wast. 
Great, lone, and sad ; then with All Saints abroad 
Dost walk, still greater: these with thee are lost 
In one mankind ; and men, the world, the heavens, 
in God. 

Now thou art Infinite, thus hidden away ! 

In search to know thee, we live, love, and pray. 



JEAN ARMOUR 

" What ! hast set at naught my heart ? 
Well, 'tis true I gave but part : 
Now I give all, all to thee." 
Then not him but his loved she. 



THE OLD ANSWER TO THE OLD 
QUESTION 

THE OLD QUESTION 

What sign of dumb entreaty lies within 
Those pale hands crossed in death ; 

What answer would those cold pale lips let fall 
If given sudden breath? 

What light of wondrous meaning breaks upon 

That closely-lidded eye; 
What great and untold mystery hides behind 

The simple phrase, To die ? 

—Celia P. Woolley, 

No sign of dumb entreaty will be seen 

When my hands cross in death; 
Nor with new breath could I an answer give 

More wondrous than this breath. 

No light of meaning then will break upon 

My closely-lidded eye, 
Nor mystery hide behind, more wonderful 

Than now before I die. 

Friend, I tell thee in thine and every face 

Are heavens so endless- vast. 
When once to take them in the eye opes wide, 

It sweeps before and past. 



164 Hymn 

What things come but are hidden in what go ? 

What go, but draw what come? 
Food is the rock's heart, light darkles, song is whist, 

And very speech sounds dumb. 



HYMN 



Father in heaven, thy dwelHng-place 
Naught but a heaven can be; 

come, inhabit thou my soul. 
And make thy heaven in me. 

1 know, O God, that where thou art 
Either I cannot be 

Or must, though but in little part 
Share in thy heaven with thee. 

If I but make the smallest part 
In thy wide heaven's extent. 

Or shine but as the farthest star 
In thy great firmament, — 

If thou who art to me the whole 
Dost make me part to thee, 

It is enough unto my soul; 
It is my heaven to me. 

If I have happiness beside, 

It is ingulfed in this; 
Or if I suffer, 'tis a wave 

On a deep sea of bliss. 



PLEROMA 

The sun shines bright 

This sweet May-day : 

Its splendid beam of white 

And all-revealing light 

Searches all things to find 

The rich, the beautiful and rare ; 

To pave for busy life a way ; 

To show the useful still combined 

With what most lovely is and fair; 

To wake on hills the breeze, 

And bid it chronicle the day 

With rustling of fresh leaves. 

And nodding whitecaps on the sea. 

And having filled the world, it has to spare 

For my heart, and filleth me. 

On this day how the birds sing ! 

They like the rich, cool air; 

It woos their merriest notes; they bring 

Their music wild and rare, 

And the wonderful beauty of their airy forms. 

That scarce will bend a twig, but ride on storms, 

To deck and glorify the waving woods. 

These are the rich and costly goods 

That come from distant tropic marts 



1 66 Pteroma 

Of Natufe's commerce, that ply their arts — 

For this is living merchandise, with hearts 

That feel and bodies of vital parts, — 

To fill the fields with music, and the tree 

With progeny melodious and fair; 

And having filled all these, they have to spare 

For my heart, and do fill me. 

Beneath both sun and birds the flowers blow; 

In these bright days they come and go 

According to their seasons, and are glad 

To go or come, so they may show 

For their own space their beauties, and give back 

To earth and sky the favors they have had. 

In field and lane and ^vood there is no lack 

Of these sweet monitors. How fresh they are! 

How bright their colors, and how far 

Their frasrrance sends its messag^e on the air I 

I love them well and like to speak their names, — 

A plain politeness that each blossom claims 

Whene'er the herald season, well arrayed 

In golden livery, has duly made 

Announcement of arriv^als new. 

They fill the grass with tender eyes 

Full of soft color, and every overarching hue 

They can reflect, of morning, noon, or evening 

skies; 
They fill the woods with sweetness, and the brooks 
With cool images of margined nooks; 
The insect appetite they satisfy and bear 



yudging 167 

No malice to the honey-seeking bee. 

And having filled all these, they have to spare 

For my heart, and do fill me. 

In this place heart and mind are open, and all 
Blissful; sun, bird, and plant do fill me; but withal, 
I am just full to happiness, not opprest 
By struggles to contain, as with the good things 

that infest 
The toiling places of my daily strife. 
The rush of thoughts, experience, arts, and crafts 

that crowd 
Even the pleasure-paths of common life, 
And urges each his claim aloud. 
Nature is not indolent, nor do I praise 
Her with hill-side listlessness in idle days; 
And common cares are good, and every rill 
Of life that joins the freshet of the will. 
If so they leave a season to be still. 



JUDGING 

Now. We are on the sea-shore. Scoop thou up 

The water in thy hand till thy palm's cup 

Be full. Canst thou perceive the drop that came 

From Amazon, or the prismatic flame 

That shot from heaven in equatorial rain? 

Within thy shallow palm canst thou descry 

The mid-sea blue, or filter with thine eye 



1 68 Prophets 

From that clear meagre basin, the dark stain 

Of ships and cities ? Then wilt thou dare take 

A dip of me, and in that shallow scoop 

Me read, — what earth-fed rills and rivers troop 

To my soul's sea, what sky-born torrents break ? 

Me lov'st not? Yet, be awed. Thou canst 
not sound 

My ill or good, which the infinite Main hath 

drowned. 



PROPHETS 

The voice of man, 
The voice of God, 
Come with the divining rod 
And part them if you can. 
As the light 
Upon the flower, 
As the might 
Of God, the power 
That doth fill 
And overflow. 
With present will. 
Above, below. 
All that lives, — 
The heart that gives. 
The singing bird. 
The spoken word. 
The garden cress. 



Prophets 169 

The soft caress, 

Women that weep, 

Insects that creep, 

The fruitful land, 

The yellow corn, 

The stern command, 

The battle horn, 

The vale, the hill. 

The mountain crest. 

The forge, the mill. 

The East, the West,— 

So, o'er my soul. 

In memories sweet. 

The good, the great 

Their inspiration roll! 

Jesus and Paul, 

Huss, and therri all, 

The martyr throng 

Through ages long, 

I love and own. 

And call my own 

Through love alone. 

Not as Master, 

Not as Lord 
Comes the pure prophetic word ; 
With meaning vaster. 
Coming faster 
Than my spirit can record. 
It makes me one with all the race; 
The saint, the seer I find in me ; 



170 



Ccedmon 



And while I see 
How I am the buried good, 
I stand within the flood 
Of the eternal grace, 
Trembling to know I am God's dwelling place. 



C^DMON 



'TwAS thus we learned to sing. 
The Soul first, who taught me: 
Loud did the rafters ring 
With sounds of revelry. 
Where the Earl sat at feast 
With churls from high to least. 
The lusty men had made 
Their meal; the wine was red 
And bubbling like swift streams. 
Then passed the harp around 
And woke its homefelt sound 
To songs of love and war, 
Of wine when mirth is bright, 
Of love when heart is light. 
Of valor in the fight, 
And mighty deeds of war. 
But we — we could not sing; 
We knew no touch of string. 
The Soul loved not such themes; 
Not songs of love, such like. 
Nor wine, nor arms that strike; 
And had my hands no might 



Ccedmon 171 

To press the harp's coy sprite 

To sing. So we went out, 

The Soul and I, about 

The barns where beasts were pent. 

Sweet grain-breathed creatures stood 

Waiting their drink and food. 

The Soul was well content, 

Nor thought the time ill spent 

In lowly offices 

To do beasts good, like these. 

Then we a-weary fell, 

And laid us down a spell 

To rest, only to rest; 

But I asleep fell fast; 

The Soul slept not, awake 

With thoughts for his high sake. 

The stable-born. Then spake 

A voice, and said, " Sing, sing." 

The Soul tlirilled; but a thing 

Of dreams it seemed, — and led 

Me whither away ? I said : 

" Who art thou, Lord ? " Again 

Came louder the same word, 

Bidding me sing; and when 

I still woke not, the third 

Time the great voice I heard : 

*' Sing, sing." The Soul with me 

Then answered: "That will we; 

But, Lord, what shall it be ? " 

Then spake the voice once more; 



1 ^2 Morning 

" Sing the beginning o'er 
Of all the creatures." Then, 
As waves on dry shells roll, 
Awoke I, and the Soul 
I found awake. And we 
Were filled with song like day. 
And straightway sang aloud, 
As when the billows crowd 
Against a sounding shore, — 
Of creatures, how they sprang 
From the Lord's love on high, 
And in him live alway. 
And evermore we sang, 
'Mid the pure revelry 
Of Nature's hostelry; 
And with the music rang 
-The rafters of the sky. 
T'was thus to sing learned T^^e: 
The Soul first, and taught me. 



MORNING 

Quick! to the marriage feast! 
The earth and I are wedded to-day : 
The clouds and the waters in splendid array 
Attend, with the sun in the east, — 
And troops of warblers lay 
Garlands of song in my way. 
O life is too blissful ! Yet if I die not, 
'Tis because death is blissfuler still, I wot, 



JOHN ATHELING 

I. 

John Athkling — I wager thou know'st him not, 
With all thy knowledge: little more know I. 
'Twas singing in the street that he was found, 
Like the great Wittenbergian, singing, wandering, 
Picking up pittances thrown him from the win- 
dows 
Of folk who oped them wide to hear, delighted, 
The marvellous voice. Yet so the pittance fed him 
And gave him strength to sing, 'twas all his care : 
The song his life was ; the scant food it purchased 
Was but the fuel of force to sing again. 
Older he than the German lad, no child — 
Though young, a man ; and a man's great baritone 
His voice was, noble, grand, glorious, humane, — 
That not alone the idlers in the houses, 
Or the easy and sheltered busy, threw up shutter 
And sash to catch the tones, but in the streets' 
Throngs stopped, of busy men and laborers. 
Of all the grades of labor, from the scholar. 
From busy merchant, to the carrier of the hod. 
Yea, to the rag-picker, and round him close 
All gathered, tarrying, forgetting, forgotten, fused 
In human nature reduced from many ores 
And molten to one ingot by that voice. 



1 74 yohn Atheling 

And so he sang, and sang to live, they said ; 
But 'twas not so ; he sang, but Hved to sing. 

It chanced one day he passed a master's door, 
Passed singing, and the master sat inside, 
In the grand state of art rapt with dehght 
In harmonies that from his mind to fingers, 
And through the fingers to the strings, and then 
Through trembhng strings, escaped to the atmos- 
phere. 
Till, in the air fallen and folded, they swept 
Again into another brain entranced, 
Like his from whom they sprang, with holy pleas- 
ure. 

Athwart this harmony burst the young man's song, 
And through the pure delight a keener joy 
Pierced like a blade of light the master's heart. 
And through the rich sweet sounds the richer 

sound 
Ran mingling, yet unmingled. As a stream 
Of fragrances from the wild turf may rise 
And float, still individual, through the air. 
Then kiss the utmost leaves, and in them merge. 
In living veins, — so swelled, so rose the sound. 
The master started from his instrument 
At tones from heaven's own instrument more rich 
Than aught of human make, though these be rich 
With heaven's descended powers, and straightway 

ran 



yohn Atheling lyS 

No leap of the sound to lose, eager for all ; 

Then quickly, as joy moves, or, quicker, wonder. 

Flew to the door and hailed the lad, and called 

And bade him come, and quicker still in-drew him 

From marveling crowds and listening wanderers. 

And asked from him again the wondrous sound 

Of that deep voice, which in its depth was light 

And in its highest reach majestic depth. 

From the which hour they never parted, the twain, 

But lived together, master and pupil : the one 

A king of power, of masterful lore of art, 

And full of fervent love ; the other, a prince. 

The king's own son by spiritual getting. 

Who for the king-father's love a filial gave 

And took his lessons with a rich affection. 

And so within the mind as well as heart. 

And so in skillful body eke as well. 

The lessons nursed a still more glorious music. 

Began he now to sing as he had never 

Of singing dreamed, or learned that any throat 

Could utter such divinity of sound. 

But all in tone — by arduous exercises. 

Rich rising grades. No daisied meads of tunes 

Did he, the severe moraler in music, 

Permit his precious charge to tread in dalliance : 

Nay, nay, but stern gymnastic day by day 

And many hours each day. And murmured not 

John Atheling, but toiled and wrought his best 

For double love, — love of his master's art 

And of his master: nay, a triple love, — 



176 yohn Atheling 

For precious to him were his glorious tones 
Out-pouring, daily more engendered, strong 
From breast strong growing, and from tuneful 

throat 
Unfeigned first, then refining, like fine gold 
Refined, till what seemed perfect grew perfection. 
And so, I say, they lived, master and lad 
Growing together, and in daily happiness, 
The master growing in pride and joyfulness, 
The pupil in his art, and both in love. 

II. 

So five bright years together. Then one day 
The lad came running (for, though man full 

grown. 
Simple he was at heart, and boyish too, 
As pure and holy music keeps its votaries), — 
Came running, as I said, with glee uncommon, 
And cried, " Dear master, pray thee, let me sing 
What now is ravishing my heart. For early 
This morn, full early, yea, in the very dawn, 
I heard sweet sounds, and I could sleep no more: 
Sweet sounds, I say, as in imagination 
Woke me my voice as thou would'st have it be ; 
And I could almost see the tones, they thrilled 
So in the air, as thou wouldst have them be. 
So I arose, voice-waked, voice-led, and thus 
By thee led, master, for thou hast led the voice. 
And forth into the park (thou knowest the place) 
I hastened, following the sounds, nay, running 



John Atheling 17^ 

To come up with the voice which seemed thy soul, 
Thy tutoring spirit, heart and mind together. 
Drawing me on, as I a stranger were 
To both, yet knowing both and owning them. 
And there I heard, O master, other sounds 
That were diviner than my voice, thy dreams. 
Our mingled dreams and toils ; for all the trees, 
The tips of trees, the tender nodding reeds 
Above the waters, yea, the breasts of flowers, 
And all the weaving of the ecstasies 
Of soft green branches tossing in the morning. 
Were vocal with bird-songs. O how they sang ! 
And how their pinions whirred and quivered, 

clipped 
By the sharp light — harmlessly, for still they flew ! 
What multitudes ! as there they came, not gath- 
ered 
In any ranks, but sprinkled like the dew 
Wherever a green place could hold a foot 
Of a sweet singer, all pouring forth in one 
Their glorious matins to the rising sun. 
And, as I thought, to One above the sun. 
Then as I listened, I could catch, my master, — 
Not in one strain, not in one songster's notes, 
But in them all, and laying each by each. 
As down they fluttered, perching in my sense 
From different heights, yea, up from coverts low, 
Till the whole air a habitation seemed 
Whence carols — gentle guests — crowded my ear, — 
A melody, voice pieced by note and note 



1^8 yohri Atheling 

From out their marvelous throats, with tones so 

high 
They pierced the ether, and so heavy-sweet 
They sank Hke weight into my soul; — I pieced 
A melody, which brought m.e then to thee, 
As every path to the horizon leads; 
For thou art always in my skies. And sky-like 
This music is ; dear master, let me sing it." 
But said the master, as one might chide a child 
For some brave fault, a fault, yet still most precious, 
" Nay, nay, my boy, I tell thee nay ; 'tis naught. 
Thou hast been ravished by the birds' shrill throats. 
'Tis ^vell ; they are pretty singers, I love them 

vv^ell. 
Yea, and myself do hear them with delight, — 
Howbeit, old to suck the dawn's dank humors 
And let its nipping shrewdness to this arm 
That hath rheumatic murmurs in the elbow, 
To hear the birds complain of dew's excess 
Unto the princely sun. But speak not thou 
Of melodies to sing ; come, tame thy heart ; 
This is the hour of task ; take thou thy stand ; 
Here is thy exercise ; so, now begin." 

III. 

'Twas not long after this when came the youth 
One golden noon, and with noon in his cheeks, 
There so was harvested meridian joy. 
" Master," he said, " O wonderful, and then 
More wonderful, and still most heavenly strange ! 



yohn Aiheling 179 

How can I tell thee what hath happened to me ? 

I have such splendor for thee in my soul, 

To leap like fairies' dances — nay, not so. 

But like religious chant — into thine ear. 

'Twas but an hour ago, that at high noon 

I stood upon the bridge that clasps the river. 

Round which, thou knowest, the great factories 

gather 
That pour their mingling black and white, like 

vestures 
Of spiritual nuns, through the adjacent isles 
Of the silent grove. And it was noon, just noon. 
When from the labors of the morn the workers 
Had stopped for rest and bodily food. First sprang 
The vocal breath from one great whistle; answered 
Another then, and then a third ; then others. 
Each following each, and hastening, clustering, 
So that the slow first tones seemed weaving 

rhythms 
For figures after, as on thy instrument 
Oft thou hast shown me ; and therewith sweet 

tune 
Flowed forth, note following note, symmetrical. 
Till voice and glorious melody I heard, 
Made of the whistles' tones; first solemn, slow, 
Then graduall}^, as one ran on another. 
Adding to the mighty melody new figures 
Of rapid notes and curving runs of notes, 
Till what began so serious and grand 
Took flight for very joy into the heavens, — 



I So yohn Atheling 

But not less grand nor serious for the joy, 

The quivering throngs of notes lifting it up 

Like wings. Master, it seized me I Bid me, I 

pray thee, 
I pray thee bid me, for I can sing it thee." 
This time the master frow'ned, and answered 

shortly, 
"Dost see the hour ? Chatter no more, but come. 
Take thou thy'lesson ; sing this minor scale. 
And see thou blur not these clipped inter^-als 
Where I have marked them in, strangers to thee. 

IV. 

So 'twas, that erst at mom when Atheling's soul 
Was ravished with the bird-songs, and at noon, 
W^hen the strange shrieks of steam pipes in his 

heart 
To music grew^, first did the master speak 
To him as to a child from a wrong caressed ; 
Then frown on him and bid him to his task. 
But all the same (for \vhat's in soul ^vill out) 
He came one evening, later by a month. 
Looking like one in whom experience 
Had bloomed into a fervor, and thus spake : 
" A strange thing, master, a moving, mighty thing! 
KnoAV that this evening I had wandered early. 
Till I had found me at a crossing street 
Where throngs of men were sweeping by me, 

busy 
Returning from more business ; and women too, 



yohn Atheling 18 1 

Yea, even girls and boys, all tired, all glad 

To be let out into the air from labor. 

Voices, released, rang loud on every side ; 

On pavements the crowds rattled, and thronging 

teams 
Jostled each other to the driver's call 
And crack of whip, — sometimes a wrathful scream. 
Though soon engulfed in the great roar that rose, 
Like wind and w^ave commingled on the coast, 
Around me. And the sharp, shrill tread of feet 
On pavement, multitudinous, came up 
To top the roar, shot with sheen gleams of voices, 
I heard a distant bell, clanging before. 
Now rolling with the rest, so that all seemed 
An instant as if all were bells, different, 
But ringing with one thought in many parts. 
Ah, master, it was grand, this symphony, 
Of hurrying men and rustling dress of women, 
The boy's hallo, the laugh of girls (what wed- 
dings !), 
And prattle of toddling babes, led by their hands, 
The rattling crowds, the teamster's shout, dogs 

barking. 
The clangor of great doors opening and shutting, 
All mingled in one vast reverberation 
Which to my sense was wondrous harmony. 
I lost myself, I was at home with thee ; 
I heard thee playing, I beheld thy hands 
Calling these peals tumultuous of sound 
From out a vast sublimity of pipes 



1 82 John Atheling 

Towering in an organ with ten thousand pedals 
Of base that roared like flame, and piped with 

notes 
Of reeds and flutes that shot aloft like sparks. 
I tell thee I could play that harmony ; 
It hath lived in me while I have run to thee 
And floating a-top of it a melody 
Which played the flutes and reeds unto the base. 
O let me play ; for though my fingers skill not 
To gather all these ecstasies, like thine. 
Yet I can beacon thine imagination, 
Till thou canst play the whole, and I can sing thee 
The splendid melody that ran above. 
Can sing it perfectly : — dear master, bid me." 
Now rose the man in wrath, assuaged no longer. 
And from his eye shot menace ; his voice trembled; 
" Silence ! " he cried, « What shall I call thee ? 

In grate ? 
Apostate ? Disobedient ? Or only foolish ? 
What art thou, what ? A boy, a silly boy ! 
Ignorant thou art, ay, nothing ; thou art nothing. 
Wouldst thou teach me, or rather I teach thee } 
Wilt thou come to me with thy silly tunes, 
Begging to sing what I have set thee not, 
And will not set, for I know well thy need. 
And the right tasks to bring thee to the end ! 
Be done, I say ; thou shalt not sing one tune, 
Nor dream of one to put it into sound. 
Until I bid thee. Get thee to thy task. 
In all thy silly dreams upon the streets, 



yohn Atheling 183 

Standing a-gawk, I doubt not, on a corner, 
Amid the hurrying throngs that stared at thee 
To see the silly flush burn in thy face, 
I warrant me thou thought'st not of thy lesson 
And of the exercise awaiting thee. 
Stand to it now, and do thy task, I say." 
Then, the while Atheling obeyed and sang 
With sweet implicitness of faith obediently. 
And the voice august that grander grew each day, 
And more a mountain like, rooted past depth 
In the central earth and towering to the skies, 
Clad in all colors, in all lights and shadows. 
From snowy white through glints of green and 

brown 
Down to the mountain's foot that stood on night, 
So deep the valley of its rest, — swelled like a tide 
That would o'erflow the horizon, ran the master 
Away, and by himself fell on his knees. 
And wept with joy, and prayed thanksgivingly. 
Even for the very things that he had chided. 
And gave God thanks for his great pupil's gifts. 

V. 

At last 'twas ended; thus the master spoke : 

" My lad, my son, my more than son, go now, 

I bid thee, for I have done all I can. 

Thou hast done well, toiled manfully, and now 

I send thee hence, though 'tis as if my heart 

I took from out my breast and sent away. 

But listen : since first I took thee from the street 



1 84 



yohn Atheling 



No tune hast sung, not one, but only tasks, 
To work like grim smiths at the splendid metal 
Of thy grand voice, and hammer it to shape. 
Now thou shalt go to foreign land, my son. 
The home of song itself, where thou shalt bathe 
In melodies, as the East bathes in the Ocean 
When in the West the far beholder sees 
Dawn lift his head from the horizon's pillow. 
Yes, thou shalt feed on music, for thou has wrought 

it; 

And great heaven-cleaving songs shall lift thee, 

teaching 
Thy voice to fly as wings on either side 
To bear thee to God's grace. And thou shalt find 
There masters to thy mind, who shall reveal thee 
These songs magnificent, and pour around thee 
Such streams, yea, rivers, oceans, yea, of tune 
As never birds had done, nor noon-tide pipes 
Nor all. the city's jar had stirred in thee. 
This shall thy masters do ; and now I give thee 
To them for love of thee, and of thy voice. 
Which is heaven's gift to thee, and the world 

through thee. 
But when by them thou art to glory led, 
I charge thee, forget not me, but bend thy love 
In memory over me, a richer crown 
Even than these gray hairs. Farev/ell, my son." 
So went John Atheling, mournfully, yet glad, 
Though very glad, yet mournfully, to leave 
His masterful, kind-stern and stern-kind teacher 



John Atheling 185 

Who him had taken for love and taught for love, 
And bound for love to stern tasks day by day, 
For love of him, of music, and of God, — 
All one to him, for God lives in his gifts. 
So went the youth, and on the high sea soon 
Beneath his bounding heart the ship was bound- 
ing 
On crests of waves that to him singing seemed 
And saying severally, " Speed on, speed on ! 
We are the figures of the melodies 
Which thou art hastening to, and thou shalt meet 
Us there agam, and in the rising tones, 
The rising, tossing tones of jubilant tunes. 
Or the great roll of solemn hymns of praise. 
Thou shalt again float on us on a sea." 
So sped the days, with ecstasies of sound. 
With dreams of songs, with the sweet plashes 

breaking 
Upon his ear of melodies far off. 
As when a tide just setting toward the flood 
First ripples gently on the farthest reef. 
So sped the days ; until the clouds grew black. 
And the wind roared, and then drew breath, drew 

breath 
And louder roared, with dreadful clamor, tearing 
Down through mute striving clouds. The waters 

rose 
To meet the roar of the wind, and joined in fury 
And larum of ungovernable tempest. 
What wind and waters lacked the thunders forged, 



i86 



yohn Atheling 



And where the clouds were rent, the Hghtnings 

laced them 
In deeper seams of blackness. Under the vessel 
Raged one storm and above another whirled ; 
Between them rolling it lay, crushed and ground, 
Out-bruising the aroma of hearts, cries, prayers, 
Like maize between the mill stones. It was 

doomed. 
It could not float, — wrecked, torn, rent, oroken, 

gaping ; 
Waters poured in and gained on laboring men 
Till they forsook the work, foreswore it, crouch- 
ing 
To die. But this the singer saw not, heard not; 
Or if he saw, he thought not life was going 
But song was come. The elements in storm 
Sang to him harmonies, and over them 
Forth from his memory leaped melodies 
Fitting the scene terrific, the awful moment. 
So there upon the prow he stood, and sang. 
While the wrecked vessel settled inch by inch 
At the broken stern from which the rudder, twisted. 
Was hurled by the curling wave into the sea. 
He stood and sang; and rose the great grand 

voice 
Heaven-high above the roar of elements, — 
So high and full, it seemed as though they quailed. 
And stopped to listen to the greater sound 
Than they knew how to lift to heaven's ear. 
IJe sang great requiems, and passion-music, 



yohn Atheling iSj 

And a world's hope-music, which, Messiah-filled, 
Broke o'er the earth as now the sea the vessel. 
Now, now he could sing! Now melodies could 

mount 
From memory's heart to voice, from voice to 

heaven ; 
And as he sang, thinking of naught but singing 
And joyf ulness that he was free to sing 
With none f orbiding, neither his master's frown 
Nor conscience stern therewith, the people trem- 
bled; 
They heard, they looked, they looked and heard, 

and then 
Fell low on their knees, bent, crawled, crept, 

pressed around him. 
Together clinging close and pressing closer. 
All on their knees, with hands clasped and uplifted. 
And with their uplifted hands their faces lifted 
Toward him and toward the sky, the singer, and 

heaven 
Whither flew the song. He sang, and hearts were 

stilled 
Wilder than waters, lifted above the storm 
As the ship sank below it: and at the highest. 
When highest rose the song, down from the pin- 
nacle 
Of music rushed the vessel into the waters 
That beat about its feet, and so was gone. 



EPODOS 

Azvaiting a birthy 

For the light athirst^ 
The seed in its shell 

Is Sirwn in the earth 
With the Jire of the dezv^ 
Till it stir, till it s^>ell. 
Till it break^ till it hurst 
Into mew. 

And song is pent 
In verse, till blent 
With the heat, "with the tears. 
With thejires and the fairs. 
With thejf^', ivith the pain 
Of a heart, and lain 
In that sacred earth 
Till it stir, till it spring. 
Till it break, till it 'wing 
Into birth. 

The song — it 'will stay. 
Though seed-coat of verse 
Dissotve and disperse^ — 
It ivill bide, it Tvill stay. 
It zv ill grow aliDay, 
Where first it did start, — 
In a heart. 



1 



